


Astriction

by VoiDreamer



Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: F!De Sardet, F/F, F/M, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2020-10-27 22:49:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 41,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20768237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoiDreamer/pseuds/VoiDreamer
Summary: There's always been something between them. A tension that neither has ever truly acknowledged to the other. But when faced with the unknown they will need to rely on the bond between them, and when tragedy hits the clarity it brings could very well destroy everything.A slow-burn about the complex and layered relationship between Lady De Sardet and Constantin beginning before the events of Greedfall. Will have spoilers from the game in later chapters. Rated for future chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all,
> 
> How many of you had similar sinking feelings that Constantin and De Sardet were going to be your thing the more the game progressed? I'm so glad several people have started writing for this odd pairing, definitely interested to get everyones' takes! 
> 
> There's a lot to unpack between these two, and I will be taking a few liberties, but I can't wait to dive in and get started.  
Definitely let me know what you think, and I hope you enjoy the start of this little journey with me! 
> 
> Much love,  
Voi

Lady Winifred Marielle De Sardet, doesn’t know whether to be surprised at the ring in her companion’s hand or disappointed. Large, tasteful, the faceted jewel sparkles easily enough in the dim candlelight and it almost brings a romantic glow to her parlour room.

“Monsieur Montmartre, I thought I was quite clear. I am not accepting proposals.” Her voice is gentle but firm, her emotions locked up behind the courtly mask she has fixed firmly upon her features. Her strange birthmark meant she had always looked a little different than her peers, but she was in every way a lady, and she had learned her lessons well.

“It is, however, a lovely ring. I applaud your taste.”

Stefan, her companion, rolls his eyes and cocks his handsome face in her direction. “That is because you helped me choose it the last time you visited the estate.”

“So I did.” She levels him with a small frown, “I also made it very clear that if I was to help you choose one, you were not to propose to me. You promised me, Stefan.”

She makes the choice to use his name, and at once he knows they are speaking as friends rather than lord and lady.

“But surely, Winnie, you will make an exception. We make good company, you and I.” He smiles reassuringly, “And with our respective lineages within the Congregation, our positions will be all but assured once we marry and have children.”

Stefan is not wrong. She likes him as a man, and she trusts him as she does very few others at court. Politically the match was a good one too.

Even her mother had mentioned the possibility as this year’s Season had started drawing to a close. The Princess De Sardet was, by all accounts, the opposite of social-climbing maven, and so Winnie had considered her mother’s words carefully. But in the end, she had set it aside, just as she had every other proposal she had received.

There was always a small tendril of guilt as to the  _ why _ of her decision but she knew her heart had long since made its choice, impossible though it was.

“I certainly appreciate the accuracy of your sentiment, Stefan. But my thoughts towards matrimony stand as they always have.”

“You’re quite serious then.You do not mean to marry...ever?” Surprise crosses the man’s elegant features for just a moment before dark brows furrow in concern, “Forgive me for my bluntness Winnie, but you will not forever be a young woman.”

Indeed, even now they can both acknowledge that she is flirting with a very different sort of status. There is a reason they are friends, his honestly is a precious commodity, and she rewards it with a nod and self mocking smile.

“You are quite correct, I am indeed nearly nine and twenty. An advanced age for any unmarried woman. But you see...I am endowed with great wealth, and thus I am allowed my eccentricities.”

She grins for a moment as she whispers conspiratorially, “How did you think I managed to secure the position as Legate for the upcoming expedition?”

Closing her hand over both the hand and ring that had not wavered in its offer, she soothes the sting of rejection with the warmth of companionship, “You should find a young woman who will choose love over adventure, my dear friend.”

The moment that followed is long, weighty, but ultimately eased as the ring was slowly tucked away. They both know that there will be another woman soon, Stefan is too wealthy and attractive a man to be without a wife and he need only pick from the creme of the Congregation.

“Are you not worried of becoming lonely in your old age?” Her friend asks after another pondering silence.

“Lonely?” Her brows rise as she considers the possibility, acknowledges it.

But before she has a chance to answer, the door to the parlor bursts open with an unceremonious crash and into the room strides the Prince’s heir, golden haired and blue eyed, boyish carelessness wrapped in all the trappings of his fine position.

There is a stunned beat of silence before the servant arrives, red faced and embarrassed to announce, “Lord Constantin D’Orsay to see you, your excellency.”

The smile on her lips is sympathetic, for this has happened many times before.

“Thank you Alfred.”

And then the older man is gone, leaving Winifred to play hostess. Her cousin’s name is on her lips a moment later, carrying only the smallest traces of censure, “Constantin. We discussed this. Alfred is no young man. Be kind to him.”

Her reminder is answered with a bright smile and the sort of easy flamboyance that comes from a pursuit of one’s passions, “Winifred, my dear cousin! I promise you, I did do better this time! I remembered what you said and did provide my card as I entered.”

And then, because he is too excited to think, he pulls his lady cousin from her chair in a wild sort of half-spin, eyes bright and excited. “I've been looking for you everywhere!”

His hands are warm on her arms, familiar, and he thinks nothing of how closely he holds her even with all the courtly trappings she has put on for the day.

“You must come quickly. Change if you must-” He rushes on, touching the little ribbons at the corners of her elbows, “but Madame Moira’s gift has arrived and I wish to test it’s edge against your own.”

“A new sword will mean nothing if you have not kept up your training, cousin.” Winnie’s smile is warm and teasing, rich with the years of rivalry that have stretched between them. She has always been the better swordswoman.

“Oh you say that now, but I shall be the victor in the ring this time!” Constantin releases her pausing just long enough to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. And that’s when he turns to acknowledge the man who has remained tactfully silent through their entire exchange.

“Lord Montematre.” There is little warmth in Constantin’s voice, less in his eyes, “I did not realize you were visiting the city.”

“Lord D’Orsay.” The title is spoken politely, cautiously, “It is just for the season. I return to my estate within the week.”

“And yet you call on my fair cousin?” The interest is noted with a frown, and Winnie knows they will likely talk about this against later. Her younger cousin is notoriously nosey.

“It would be a horrible error for me to visit Serene and not pay a call to Lady De Sardet. She has ever been a bright light at court.”

And for once the two men are in agreement, as Constantin nods and looks at her with frank adoration, “Yes. Yes, I dare say she always has been a spot of brilliance. My lucky star.”

There is a flash of something there in the blue of his eyes as he glances at her. But neither says a thing.

“Please say you’ll join me, cousin.” He says softly, stepping back to allow her to return to her guest.

“I’ll meet you there in a moment.” Winnie promises, “Go find Kurt. He will be needed as well.”

And then her cousin, the heir, is gone.

The silence that follows is telling, and for all that she likes Stefan, she fears he is too smart a man to have missed the details that have betrayed her mind.

“Lady De Sardet?”

She can’t quite muster the courage to look him in the eye, but years of training means she gets quite close.

“Yes, my lord?”

Court mask fixed firmly in place, she reaches down to retrieve her delicate cup of tea.

“Your cousin, is he-”?”

She takes a small, polite sip as Stefan tries again.

“Is Constantin the reason you are not-?”

The mask upon her face shudders as she swallows, and the tea tastes like bitter poison as it slips down her throat.

Still she smiles.

“I have no idea what you mean, monsieur.” She uses every ounce of charm and poise she commands to maintain herself. And then, with a fluid movement that bellies her station, she lifts the tea bell to summon the servants.

“But thank you again for calling upon me. Now that I have provided my answer I believe we are done. Alfred will see you out.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we begin our true story.  
Constantin is scolded over a lack of decorum.   
The wheels of fate begin to turn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who responded, commented and kudo'd that first chapter. It definitely fuelled this little writing fire :) 
> 
> This chapter dives a little bit more into the story on Constantin's side, starting well before chapter 01 and will really be our main jumping off point for the rest of the work chronologically. 
> 
> I did get a bit dark here so do be aware. Would love to get your thoughts on all of this - and I'm always open to ideas and suggestions as well. Thanks again for taking the time to give this a look!

Despite his outwardly sunny disposition, Constantin is a man of two minds, both of which are aware of his own selfishness. Such awareness is to be expected, given who his parents are, but his wildness is a sort of elemental force the likes of which he chooses to exert little control. 

He  _ could _ . And if were a good son, he would exercise such skills more often. But in a court of rules and order, he has long since wished to truly  _ live _ , to be free, and that sentiment has led him down many paths. He has tried all manner of vice, drink and gambling, his desires leading him easily to both the lecture halls and beds of many fine and intriguing people. And yet none have held his attention for long. As with all his interests, the satisfaction fades with time, a fleeting thing that is eventually discarded. 

The results of his actions are usually more difficult to abandon, and sometimes such consequences are far reaching. This one in particular, his expulsion from a Theleme finishing school, seemed to be a step too far in the eyes of his father. Constantin had expected it might be, but was not until his mother arrived to personally bring him home that he realized the severity of his father’s anger. 

“This hedonism of yours will bring you friends of all varieties. But I fear you will make an enemy of your father if you continue along this path.” His mother spoke candidly as they sat together on the carriage ride home. Straight backed and eagle eyed, her icy beauty was sharp compared to her son’s golden radiance. 

“So you continue to say, mother.” He flicked a disinterested glance her way before turning his observations back to the clouds outside. The sunset was painting the sky the deepest magenta and rose. 

“Be thankful that Father Claudius did not catch you with his mistress,” she said, “And be grateful that  _ she  _ does not know you slept with her son.”

“Yes, yes. I know. I was sloppy and now I am paying for my little...indiscretion by going home in dishonor.” Constantin sighed, “Must we always play this game? Do you not find it painfully contrived?”

“We would not have to play such things if you were smart enough to keep your liaisons  _ private _ .” There is disapproval in her voice, but only because he continues to get caught.

She expects more from her son, a keenness she could turn to something dangerous, something she could  _ use _ . Constantin knows this, misses  _ nothing _ , merely flops back in his chair and sighs. 

“Do you ever regret it?” She asks carefully. 

“Should I? When was the last time  _ you  _ regretted anything?” He gestured to the small satchel that lay against her waist, tied closed with a jeweled clasp. Inside was her small book of orders, her carefully considered assassinations. 

“Perhaps you are more my son than I would care to admit.” 

He grimaced but said nothing. There was little affection between them most of the time, and her attempts at finding common ground often left things wanting. 

“Will you lock me in my room for a week as penance?” He asked as the carriage continued over a well worn bridge and began the rocky ascent.

“Not at all. You need a chaperone, not a jailor. And your father has already chosen one who I believe you will find quite suitable.” 

“If it is neither Lord Rasmus or Lady Ellena I shall be most displeased.” 

“I said  _ suitable _ , Constantin. I wouldn’t want you thinking you could simply charm your way into their bedrooms and toward freedom. Besides, I do believe this one will hold your leash gently enough that you will listen.” 

There were very few his mother trusted, and of that list there was only one he cared for. 

De Sardet.

It had been years since he had seen her but the loss of her presence still felt like a blow to the chest. 

As children they had spent entire summers together at the family estate, frolicking between the rolling hills of lavender until the sun had set and their governess had to chase them inside. Wooden swords, daring adventures, she had never forgotten him or abandoned him for more exciting prospects. Though older than him, she had never treated his youth as a drawback and she had been kind in a way that Constantin recognized was exceedingly rare. 

For those four months every year they had been happy. And the memories of those days in the sun had always been strong enough to sustain him in the time apart, when his duty had required he return to the city. 

But when Winifred’s magical abilities had manifested themselves shortly before his thirteen birthday, it had been necessary for her to accompany Father Petrus to a special school. 

The last time he had seen her had been through the back of a carriage as it carried her away. Her expression burned into his mind, the sadness in her eyes, the desolate appearance of her small figure hunched beneath her travelling cloak. 

Her loss had been almost insurmountable for a young Constantin. Desperate to maintain a connection he had written her letters. Short letters in the beginning, then longer when she readily replied in kind. They had corresponded regularly and the bond between them had stretch like a silken thread, joining their two beings regardless of distance. 

Her messages had stopped abruptly about a year ago. And despite his parent’s reassurance that she was well, he had felt her absence like a winter chill he could not shake. Not even now, at the very cusp of summer. 

Returning to the present, Constantin finds himself startled by the view. Thick trees and stout shrubs where he had expected the tightly packaged buildings of Serene. He frowns, in the evening light nothing looks familiar. 

“Where are we going?” He tries to keep the hostility from his voice, but the growing sense of dread has his hands turning clammy despite the fineness of his gloves. 

“We thought the country might be the best place to...retrain you.” 

There’s a moment where her words incite a terror so pure and cold that even Constantin cannot feign disinterest. For all that his father is strict, it is his mother who has always found the cruelest punishments. As a smaller child he had loved and feared her in equal measure. Time has not changed this. 

It is only after a long pause,  _ too long _ , that he finally manages to find a flippant enough comment to feel like himself once more.

“Training? Am I to be your new show pony upon my return?” 

The smile she gives him is all sharp with political innuendo, “Of a sort, you are expected to attend your first Season. Your father and I wish you to make a good impression.”

_ Marriage _ .

He feels faint and wonders if that is how all children of nobility feel when faced with such a duty. There is no concept of  _ choice  _ amongst those who rule, only strategic alliances. There was a reason the Confederation of Merchants chose gold coins as their symbol. It gave Constantin little comfort to know that he was the heir of the very largest of those golden idols. 

“I’ve not yet turned twenty.” He says hoarsely. 

His mother brushes off his concerns with a wave of her slender hand, “Nineteen is old enough for a man to be introduced to a Season. Especially when he has the financial backing that  _ you  _ will have.”

“Are you looking to marry me off to some rich man’s spoiled young daughter?” He asked sharply.

“Hardly. I’d prefer you marry a woman wealthy enough that she not be a burden to this household.” 

“We are the richest house.” Constantin reminded her shortly.

Her smile is sharp enough to have splintered diamond itself 

“Then perhaps I am in need of political connections instead. Do you think you could charm one of the older widows? I could certainly use Lady Rosalie’s relations to the Bridge Alliance.” 

The innuendo is not so subtle that he misses it. And the blood roars in his ears at the implication. 

“I’m not some  _ stud _ to be whored out for political advantage!” 

He is all but vibrating with anger, yet his stomach clenched with a very real fear that she will somehow have her way. 

His mother’s brows rose, “Truly? I do believe I missed the part where you upheld the role of heir with the decorum of a true prince.” There is no warmth in her voice now, only a cold assessment, “Your father may think you a lost cause, but I  _ shall _ make use of you, regardless of what you choose.”

She pauses, surveys him from toes to tip of nose, and his skin crawls when he realizes that she is looking him over as though inspecting some expensive racehorse.

“Even whores have their roles to play, Constantin.” She says cruelly, “And you have inherited enough of my looks to be particularly effective.” 

It’s too much. 

The carriage is too small. 

The ride unacceptably rough. 

His  _ anger,  _ he’s choking on it, the air too charged for him to get a proper breath. 

“Stop the carriage.” He wheezes, pounding at the suffocating space around him with a sort of dazed blindness. 

Leaning over, he tries again, forcing his mouth open as he attempts to breath without success. It burns, his chest hurts. But it’s not enough. His ears are ringing. And  _ why won’t the carriage stop?  _

“I said  _ stop. the. carriage.”  _ He shouts even as his hands come up to curl protectively around his ears, curling in on himself to make it stop. _ Make the hurt stop.  _

Why won’t they ever listen to what he wants?

Why do they insist on  _ using  _ him? 

Shuddered breaths. Agonized gasping.  _ B _ ut through it all they just keep  _ moving  _ and he just  _ can’t- _

He’s thrown himself out of the carriage before he truly realizes what he’s done. Into the cold of the evening he sails, the rush sudden and bracing, but the split second of silence, of peace as he sails through the air, is  _ everything _ . 

Peace.

_ Freedom _ . 

And then he falls, crashing through the dense shrubbery at a speed where there is no sense of direction, just the feeling of things crunching and cracking, cutting and slicing. He lands heavily upon the ground a moment later, striking his head against a large stone with enough force to make stars dance across his vision. 

It is a different kind of pain, the agony that shoots through his temple and down his side, this one tolerable. And when his eyes roll back and the darkness rushes to embrace him it is a welcome escape. 

He wakes some undetermined amount of time later to find the first beams of the sunrise dancing across the ceiling of a bedroom. Eyes slow to focus, the fresco comes to life in small pieces, as if the painter were working on it infront of him. A hunter and his hound, the motif was vaguely familiar, but Constantin dared not think too hard. His head pounded dully, and the left side of his body felt bruised from shoulder to knee. 

A soft exhale somewhere just outside his field of view makes him aware of another’s presence, and for a moment he fears it might be his mother. The revulsion makes his throat close with such intensity that the sound of distress is impossible to mask. 

Another mistake on his part, the sound seems to draw his guest to him, like a moth to open flame. 

The touch of a hand on his shoulder is so very gentle, but he cannot help the way he shudders. 

It’s almost more than he can stand. 

After everything, it is a struggle to hold himself together and he inhales jaggedly as misery swirls anew. He feels like the shattered pieces of a tea cup, stacked back into shape but without the material needed to keep from shaking apart once more. 

“Please.” A desperate whisper for patience, for peace, for  _ someone  _ to truly hear him, “I can’t stand doctors or their little knives. Don’t touch me, I beg you.”

And this time, his words find ears that  _ listen _ . 

The hand falls away, but the presence remains, bustling about the small room with a sort of quiet efficiency that slowly calms him. Blankets are straightened, curtains are gently pulled open, and when his caretaker opens a large window to allow in the fresh air, Constantin is surprised to smell the familiar whisper of lavender. 

He knows this smell just as he recognized the painting on the ceiling. 

It’s almost too much to hope for and he blinks sharply to avoid them filling with tears. He can’t turn his head to look, but the knot in his throat, in his chest, has eased some by the time  _ she _ takes the seat beside his bed. 

“Will it bother you if I used magic?” 

Her voice is lower than he remembered, tinged with some sort of female huskiness that reminds him of velvet and smoke. But the accent is the same, unchanged despite her time away. 

“Cousin?” The hope is almost too much, and he can barely speak her name for wanting. 

Her face swims into view a moment later, and this time there is indeed a tear that escapes the corner of his eye. She has aged, as they both have, but the relief at seeing her again is overwhelming. 

“Hello, Constantin.” Her smile is tender, her eyes bright but set with worry, “Will you let me finish healing you?”

“With  _ magic _ ?” Despite his pain, the joy at seeing her is such that he cannot help teasing, “I thought you were training to use it to slay dragons, not heal wayward damsels in distress like myself.” 

“It turned out I was better suited to this, a natural talent, actually. If Father Petrus had not thought to test me I might have simply been a failed war-mage rather than a healing savant.” 

She lifts one of her hands so that he might see the shimmering light of her gift, “May I begin?” 

“Please.” 

The feeling of her magic is just like that moment he burst from the carriage. A relief. It is a cool silken caress, smoothly settling against the burning of his skin to ease the sharpness, to blunt the pain..

And when at last the brightness of it fades, he watches as her eyes take in what remains of the damage. Healed enough now to turn his head, he sees when her lips press into an unsatisfied frown. 

“Have you missed a spot?” He wonders aloud. 

She sighs but her lips have tugged into a smile and he considers that a small victory. 

“You have not changed one bit, Constantin. But yes, since you asked...I seem to have indeed missed a spot.” 

She motions with her hand towards his jaw where the ache is most fierce, but at the last moment freezes, remembering his words. 

They both do. 

“You may touch me.” He says after a moment, “I  _ trust  _ you still, Winifred.” 

She makes only the most fleeting of eye contact before nodding shyly, “It would be for just a moment. I promise to be gentle.” 

And she is. It is her thumb that brushes the pain away, gliding along the sharp line of his jaw as gently as any lover’s caress. The magic is more concentrated this way, he can feel its potency beneath his skin and he realizes that the only reason she had not done this before was to respect his wishes. 

Something in his chest twists, but this time is in neither fear nor shame. Rather the feeling is a fluttering of wings, of weightlessness and awareness. 

He has  _ missed her _ . And when she finishes, it his hand that comes up to gently touch her own, finding with a startling sense of satisfaction that her hand fits perfectly in his larger one. 

“Thank you, fair cousin.” 

“Constantin.” She is playfully exasperated with him now, her hand is trapped but she makes no move to pull away. Rather her expression is serene, and when she manages to meet his gaze once more the warmth he sees fills him with hopefulness. 

“My darling Winifred, how would you feel about spending the summer together?” He asks on a whim, as is his way. 

Her lips curve into an easy smile, “How fortuitous. I was going to ask you the same thing.” 

  
  
  
  


_ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winifred deals with the aftermath and is reunited with her dear cousin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...not sure how long I'll be able to sustain this pace, but I'm definitely enjoying it right now :) You all continue to inspire and encourage with your comments and kudos, so THANK YOU very much! 
> 
> This chapter brings us right back to our main lady De Sardet who now has to figure out how to navigate the return of Constantin at the summer estate. It's been a while for them both.

Winifred would never press for details, but as she watched over her cousin’s unconscious form, she _ knew _that what transpired last night was more than what it seemed. 

Her aunt had arrived at the estate in the throws of what could only be called a panic, and if that had not been so uncharacteristic and jarring, Winnie might have said something. But she had taken just one look at the woman’s stark pallor and realized that Constantin must be in grave danger indeed.

Her skills at reading tracks had come in handy, but in the end it was her training as a healer that had made the difference. Just as Father Petrus had said it would. 

Turning back to the situation at hand, Winifred tried to stow the sense of loss at the thought of her foster father. Petrus had not always been forthcoming with his motives, but he was fair, warm and had taught her the value of both magic and charisma.

The fact that she had used those same skills to negotiate her way home instead of accompanying him to some mysterious island had made him proud. But coming back to the palace at Serene turned out to be an empty victory when Constantin’s presence at his finishing school meant she was alone. 

It had been years, but she sorely missed him, his open affection, his brightness. 

Her mother had suggested that there might be opportunities on the horizon to see him, but only if they worked together and planned carefully. Princess De Sardet suspected Constantin would be summoned back home this year for the upcoming Season. And while her mother did well to stay out of court intrigues, she _knew_ the aim of her sister-in-law's machinations. Together they worked to point the Princess D’Orsay in Winifred’s direction. After all, Constantin would be in need of a chaperone, and Winifred had done well in her own debut. 

For Winifred, the chance to see Constantin again had provided ample fuel for the months of work. Between her usual magical studies, her daily training with Kurt and the usual complexities of studying diplomacy across three alliances the months passed quickly by. When it came time to balance the additional tasks of seeing to a new wardrobe for the Season and working closely with her mother on the various social maneuvers needed to bring Constantin home, she had found herself completely swept away. 

Still, there had been moments of quiet when she had wondered at the silence, _ his _silence. 

When she had first left for her magical training, Constantin had promised to write. And despite her initial skepticism, a letter had indeed arrived not long after her settling in Theleme. Even now she could not find the words to properly express the delight she had felt in that moment. 

For years they wrote, remaining in near constant contact. 

She wrote frankly of her struggles with her studies, her failure at harnessing battle magic, her love for the gardens at the Theleme conservatory and her homesickness.

In return she received news of Constantin’s exploits in the training yard, his impatience with his tutors and the jubilation of success when he finally managed a particularly difficult jump with his favorite horse, Leopold. She also gained insights into the struggles he faced with a strict father, a conniving mother. 

They both struggled with loneliness, but the letters provided a valuable connection. 

And in this way they passed many years apart. 

But then, without explanation, his letters stopped. 

The memory was still sharp despite the passing of time, and Winifred could all too easily recall the growing sense of dread that had festered when weeks of silence turned into months. Fearing the worst, she had nearly taken a carriage back to Serene, but Petrus’s reassurances had paved the way towards a different solution. In the end, a missive from her mother had confirmed that Constantin was indeed still hale and hearty as ever, getting into all sorts of trouble. 

It had been both a relief and a terrible wound upon her heart. Winifred had been relieved at the news, that he was uninjured, was _ healthy _, and yet she had grown despondent in the months that followed. There never was another letter, and she never learned why that precious connection had been abandoned. 

Now was not the time to demand answers either, not when she had nearly lost him. Pale and broken at the bottom of a ravine, the image was burned into her mind’s eye. 

She had done what she could to stabilize him, had worked with Kurt and one of the estate’s groundskeepers to get Constantin into a carriage and eventually his bedroom. Stripping him of his bloodied clothes and washing away enough so that she might survey the damage in its entirety, she had expended all of her magic in the healing. 

His valet had come by several hours later when she had needed to rest, bringing what was needed to sponge away the last of mess while Winifred suffered through a fitful nap. Upon her return, she found her cousin clothed anew, tucked beneath the blankets. 

And so here she was, standing in his room, taking in the dappled moonlight and the smell of lavender as if for the first time. With the fog of fear and determination gone from her eyes she gazed at the world anew. Almost everything was familiar, but the _ man _ in her cousin’s bed was not. 

She thought she knew what to expect, but had not counted on her own reaction. 

Drawing just slightly closer so she could see more clearly, it was easy to recognize the little things: the straightness of his nose, the point of his chin, the long dreamer’s eyelashes that brushed his cheek as he slept. It had been years since she had seen him, and the changes that time had wrought were not all so innocently noticed. 

She swallowed against the feeling that had bloomed in her chest, willing it to go away and fearing that it would not. 

The murmurs she had heard at court were beginning to make more sense. 

Here was the man that so many courtiers whispered about with satisfied smiles and knowing smirks. The lord of hedonism, if such things were to be believed. Winifred had been at a loss trying to make sense of that reputation when all she had were the memory of a little boy. 

But now, she wondered. 

Strong jaw, broad shoulders, with a physique that spoke of regular activity, she could not deny that his pale beauty was apparent even beneath the bruises. Brushing the hair from his brow, she gently applied a healing poultice to the injuries that lingered, silently wishing that her magic would replenish more quickly. She had dealt with the worst of it, and with the valet’s care he had no risk of infection, but still she worried. 

There was a chance she had missed something. 

The thought made her frown as a wave of protectiveness drove her to redouble her efforts and look over her charge with a healer's trained eye. Her aunt had been as closed mouthed as usual, but it looked like he had been thrown from a horse or tossed from some great height. 

Perhaps it was better than the Princess d’Orsay had barely remained at the estate long enough to get confirmation of her son’s survival before getting back in her carriage. Winifred was not sure she would have managed to remain civil to the woman who had apparently put her son in harm's way and then so callously abandoned him at the roadside. 

That his mother chose to wait at the estate while _ she _had ridden out told Winifred all she needed to know. 

Sighing, she settled into the chaise beside Constantin’s bed and closed her eyes. It would be a while before the sunrise, she knew to take what rest she could get. 

XX 

When Constantin wakes, trembling in fear despite the brave face he tries to put on, Winifred thinks her heart might break.

It is a near thing. 

But they find a way back to each other. 

It is as natural as breathing, and the _ rightness _of it shakes her. 

Winifred returns with a small tea tray shortly after noon to find him sitting up in bed. Though still pallid, his bruising has nearly all faded, and there is a slight hint of color on his cheeks. 

_ “My darling Winifred how would you feel about spending the summer together?” _

His words have settled themselves in the warm cove of her chest, and she smiles when he looks up from his book to greet her with an equally effusive grin. 

“My dear cousin, you always did know what was on my mind. What is it that you have there? Some tea and little cakes, perhaps?” His expression darkens a moment later, “I thought the servants brought such things up to the rooms at the estate. Have they been giving you trouble?”

His expression is too serious for her to jest, but she wants to return to him the lightness of the moment. “No, Constantin. I thought you remembered... the best food is always had when you go to the kitchen directly. _ Look. _” 

Turning the tray so that he can better see her surprise, she feels a bloom of satisfaction at the way his eyes widen and his concern eases. 

Neatly sliced bread, white with no crusts, and between them...

“Cucumber sandwiches?” His exclamation of delight speaks for itself, and she laughs, so very pleased that she has remembered his preference. 

“Cook said she had a feeling you might want some this summer if you visited us, so the kitchen garden is well stocked.” 

He waits with all the patience of a puppy, which is to say that he plucks one from the tray the moment it is placed between them. And though he maintains his usual manners, she laughs when the first sandwich disappears in two bites. 

“I had no idea you felt so passionately, Constantin. If this is what it would have taken to earn some quiet when we were children, perhaps I would have bothered our cook more often.” 

“I know you jest, my fair knave.” He grinned at her, “You adore my relentless need for conversation. I remember more than a few times at court when you came looking for me because you were horribly bored of that very proper silence.” 

“I cannot deny the truth of your words.” She admitted, pouring the tea into the fine porcelain cups, “You always did have something interesting to discuss, or questions worth investigating. We were never at a loss for subjects.” 

“Right you are.” He nodded, gesturing with the corner of another sandwich, “Though I have been told that discussing mythical creatures, far flung adventures and one’s love of tea foods is inappropriate.” 

She chuckled, “Not that silly things like propriety have ever stopped you before, dear cousin.” 

The corner of his mouth quirked into a small, pleased smirk, “Certainly not. I’m quite certain the world as we know it would cease to exist if I dared cave to such things like _ expectations _.”

He tucked away another few bites of sandwich before leaning back against his pillows to meet her gaze. “Besides, we both know what my favorite subject is.” 

“Oh?” Winifred took a long sip of her tea, and waited. But when he continued to watch her in return, she suspected she had missed some sort of clue. 

Or perhaps not...the longer he watched her, the more keenly she seemed to feel his attention. 

Dropping her attention to her hands, she felt the singe of heat on the cheeks, “Constantin…”

“Will you not humor me, fairest Winifred? These past few years, have felt so very long. What course has your life taken? I do not doubt you have been a wonderful student, but what of everything else?” 

When she glanced up, he smiled encouragingly, “Theleme is the heart of magical society, did you dazzle them at court?” 

Theleme was a place of culture, but Winifred was not sure it was one she would ever feel comfortable in. Her confession didn’t make Constantin frown, but he gestured her closer before she could continue her story. Moving the tray, she sat beside him for just a moment before old habits and familiarity found her laying beside him amongst the pillows, face to face as if they were both children again, sharing secrets and old hurts. 

“Mother likely mentioned it, but I made my debut in Theleme rather than the Congregation.” She said after a time, “The court may be steeped in magic, but the core principles are the same.” 

“Lineage, wealth, beauty.” Constantin murmured, as his attention drifted over the features of her face, “Our family is not wanting for any of them.” 

“No, I suppose not.” She smiled but there was pain there, a story she was not ready to tell.

He brushed the tips of his fingers against her own, ”You never found someone to dazzle you? I do recall there being a fair number of suitors who approached my father.”

They both knew her mother would never have pressured her into a marriage, and despite his hard heart, _ his _ father had always had a soft spot for his niece. It would not matter who her suitors approached, the choice would be hers. As it should be. 

“Winifred?” 

“N-no. I never.” She withdrew a little then, turning to look at the artful tossel his hair rather than look at him directly, “I am _ awkward _ when it comes to such things. Give me a squabble between merchant families and I can negotiate a settlement, but _ men.. _.” 

Closing her eyes and pressing her face momentarily into the softness of the pillow, she sighed, “Very few are interested in who I am without the money and title.”

She opened her eyes across to find her cousin watching her, his expression gentle, almost sweet. 

“Constantin?” 

“You need suffer no fools, Winifred. You are far too clever and lovely to limit yourself for any reason, certainly for no fortune hunter. Any man would be lucky to call you his wife.”

“What of you?” She wondered aloud, “That is to say...how have you spent these past few years?” 

The tug of his lips told her that she had managed to amuse him yet again. 

“I care little for my virtue or standing, so I’ve been indulgent. I doubt this surprises you, but it is the truth.” 

“There was never someone who held your heart?” She asked softly. If the stories were true, it seemed likely that one of his bedpartners might have held sway over him if even for just a moment.

“None can even hold a candle to you, my fair cousin. How am I to do better when I have the Congregation’s finest at my side already?”

“Do you mind that you must attend the Season this year?” Winifred murmured, ignoring his outrageous teasing to get at the heart of things. 

“I mind the lack of freedom to make the choice, yes.” Blue eyes found her own, held her there with the weight of his sincerity, “But I cannot say that I mind spending time here with you if that is the price.” 

He touched her cheek then, thumb brushing the soft curve, “I suspect I will need to apologize by the end. I have almost completely forgotten how to dance, and though I am most certainly charming, you’ll find that my grasp of alliance policy appalling weak.” 

“And what of your skill on the piano forte?” The memory of his playing floated between them, as if the music were carried on the lavender scented breeze, “Have you kept up your studies?” 

Her question seemed to infuse Constantin with a sudden energy. 

“Have you still got that divine instrument here at the estate?” He asked, so genuinely curious and hopeful. “Please say you have, my heart might not survive the disappointment otherwise.” 

“Mother had it tuned a while ago, but the butler assures me that it is still in good order. Once you have your strength back I would be happy to hear you play.” 

Her confirmation drew forth a feverish delight that she suspected was part emotion as well as lingering delirium from his injuries. As he edged towards the bed, she followed suit, keeping a careful eye on him. 

“What are we waiting for, fair cousin? Let us go at once! ” Pushing the blanket from his lap with frantic eagerness, it was only Winifred’s quick reflexes that saved him for tipping onto the floor. 

“_ Constantin _.” Exasperation colored her voice as she moved around the bed. 

“Will you not _ wait _ you daft man?” Fetching his dressing gown, she caught him just as he staggered upright, listing drunkenly to the side like some unbalanced ship in a storm. 

“Cousin, _ please _.”

She hurried to clothe him, to keep the chill from seeping through his thin linen shirt and sleeping pants. But now that they stood so close Winifred realized, with a small measure of surprise, that her cousin was the taller one now.

“Have you shrunk, dearest cousin?” He teased her, face glowing with impish delight as he observed the same change, “You fit so perfectly in my arms now, I may never let you go.” 

“I am not _ shrinking.” _ Winifred responded hotly, closing his coat with an efficient snap of ribbon, and giving him a gentle shove to remind him that this new development changed nothing in their dynamic, “It is _ you _ who has grown since our last meeting.” 

His smile was wide as he drew to his full height, arms extending outwards in a playful pose of haughty grandeur, “It’s true. I am a proper man now. Behold my magnificence and be awed. ”

And then, without further warning he took off at a sprint, out the door on long legs that ate up the ground beneath him. Winifred had never seen him move so quickly. 

But still she gave chase. 

Some things would never change, and she knew exactly where he was headed.

And for the first time in many years the estate was filled with shouting and a familiar chaotic happiness. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music and promises made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of you are such a gift. Thank you for all the warmth, the encouragement and praise. I received such a positive outpouring of support with that last chapter, and I cannot tell you how lovely a surprise that was. 
> 
> This chapter went through a few different rewrites, and I'm still not sure I'm happy with it. But I wanted to share because at its core it delivers some key insights into these two, and gets us back into Constantin's headspace for just a bit. 
> 
> I'm thinking that this will be my format, bouncing between Constantin and Winifred (one chapter per pov), so that we can see how they slowly grow from here. There is still plenty left to explore, and I'm actually pretty excited. Next chapter we'll kick it into gear with training for the Season, but for now, please enjoy a last interlude. 
> 
> Much love to ALL of you!  
Voi

One of his lovers had once said he had the soul of an artist, rather than one of a fighter or politician. 

At the time Constantin knew he had been insulted, but rather too drunk to say anything. But now, as his fingers flew across the elegant black and white keys of the piano forte, he realized that the woman had been more insightful than he had appreciated. There was a fluidity to his movements, and rise in his spirits as he moved. It was as if the music itself were a source of energy that his battered body needed to heal, as rare and powerful as Winifred’s magic. 

Louder then softer, slower then faster, he was a bird upon the ocean breeze, soaring across the blue, wild and reckless and so utterly free. There was the kiss of sunshine on his wings, the sharp bite of salt on his tongue, and when at last he made his perch upon the mast of a great sailed ship, the triumph was resounding. 

There were several songs after that. Some joyful, others more somber, all of them wrought from his hands, his heart, as they spilled out in unending expression. 

And when at last he was done and the music began to fade, Constantin found himself returned to his body. Opening his eyes, he realized he had no idea how long he had been playing, but the chaos of his mind was eased by the quiet peacefulness of his own making. 

His cousin stood just beyond him, silhouetted in the quickly fading light of the afternoon. 

“Was it truly so horrible that you had to turn away?” He asked as a hint of a smile touched his lips. 

“_ Constantin _.” 

When she turned, he felt his own heart stutter in his chest. Hand clutched to her breast, eyes too bright, her expression was one of devastation, overwrought emotion. 

“Winifred, whatever is the matter?” 

Rising from the bench, he went to her instinctively.

“You play _ beautifully_.” Clutching the front of her gown, she spoke her praise, but she trembled in a way that worried him. 

“Then why were you crying, dearest?” He touched the corner of her eye, where a stubborn tear still clung. 

“Your music stirred in me the memories and joys of our childhood.” She murmured. “I felt your absence as keenly as if it were a sword’s edge upon my heart.” 

Her words stunned him.

“Winifred-” 

“I know it is not correct for a lady to express such things but-,” she swallowed hard, “I _ missed you_, Constantin.” 

He shook his head, gathering her close as he did so “Proprietary has no place over _ truth _, my fair cousin. You need never spare my feelings or be untruthful to me, for any reason. I shall always care for you, and your thoughts.” 

He sighed as she settled against him.

“To have such good fortune now, to return here and to you, is a joy of unspeakable magnitude.” He whispered into the softness of her hair, feeling his heart thunder in his chest. “You cannot know how often I wished for such things.” 

Gazing down at her, he watched as her smile bloomed, slow and lovely as a flower. And in that moment there was no helping the way he cupped the side of her face, traced the line of her neck, marveling silently at the lovely color that rode high on her cheeks. 

“Take a turn about the estate with me, Winifred? Before this day is over, let us both truly know that we are returned, to each other and to this place.” 

“But you are not yet fully recovered.” She protested softly on his behalf. 

“I may need your assistance, it is true. But I dare not wait another day. Already the hours seemed to have passed too swiftly by.” 

“We may walk as slowly as you recommend.” He promised when she continued to look torn, “And I shall dress more appropriately if you summon my valet to assist.” 

And so she did. 

The property stretches out as far as the eye can see. The gardens sit closest to the house, nestled in the protective bosom of the estate and just beyond are the source of the estate’s income, the rows of deepest purple hue, the lavender. 

Despite the beauty of the blossoming gardenias and yellow throated irises, it is to this further field they go. Without word or discussion Winifred leads him, on sure steps and with patience they take the path together. 

Slow and meandering, their eyes just as often find one another as they do any of the other garden jewels. But when they arrive at the edge of the lavender fields, it is all they can see. 

Time has been generous to the plants and land, both have flourished in the years since they had last been visited. Each flowering bush is larger than it once was, the scent richer and more fragrant. 

Constantin can all but see the ghost of his younger self amongst the rows running wild. Filling his lungs with the perfumed air is all he needs to recall one memory after another. 

At his side, Winifred slows, “Is it as you remember?” 

He shook his head, “It seems to have become more lovely with time.” 

The gentle strength she has been using to guide him, flexes slightly, “Shall we find a seat to better enjoy the view?”

The low stone wall Winifred finds for them to perch on is a welcome respite for his weary frame. And the timing could not be better, for no sooner are they settled then the sunset is upon them. But even the colors of such an aerial spectacle cannot compete with the rolling amethyst at their feet. 

“I do believe that there is only one thing that could make this better.” He says after many long moments in silent contemplation. 

Long fingers reach down to tug his shoes off before reaching for his stockings. A moment later his feet are exposed to the evening air. 

“Constantin. You have only just managed to get properly clothed, what do you mean to do?” 

It is harder to see now that the primarily light comes from the moon and the small lantern Winifred has brought. But she understands well enough when he presses the soles of his feet to the earth with a laugh, feeling in his element at the expression of surprise on her face. 

“Come along, cousin.” He says gaily, wiggling his toes, “You as well.” 

“You wish me to bare my feet and walk around?” She sounded scandalized, and for just a moment is every inch the court lady she was raised to be. 

But then she sighs, and that image is softened by the consideration and sincerity with which she truly considers his request. 

“Very well. Give me just a moment.” 

She too had worn sturdy boots, and deft fingers made quick work of the laces that bound her feet so tightly. But unlike her cousin, the stockings on her feet were tied much higher on her legs. And it is the appearance of her silk covered ankle, that gives them _ both _pause. 

If he was a betting man, and he _ was _ , Constantin might have guessed that she wore full stockings as was the custom for women of her station. He had bedded enough of them recently to know what was _ in and out _in regards to the fashion of one’s under things. Silken with ribbons at the top, they were meant to aid a woman in preserving her modesty, but Constantin found that they rather had the opposite effect on him now. The knowledge that he might run his hand up a woman’s leg and find that bit of ribbon tied so delicately above her knee made the experience all the more decadent. 

And so, while he _ meant _to tease Winifred about how long it was taking her, he found his humor all but evaporate at the sight of that delicate white silk. It takes but a moment for the air to change, to charge, with a sudden inexplicable tension. 

“I believe I am in need of privacy, Constantin.” 

Her voice is soft, barely above a murmur, and she cannot quite look at him. 

“Of course.” He stands quickly, turning away to head towards the gardener’s cottage at the far end of the field, “Come and find me when you are ready?”

But even as he speaks, he knows the distance would do nothing to diminish the image in his mind, the unexpected awareness that has a hold of him. 

_ Winifred and her stockings. _

There had been a particularly sensuous pair on a courtesan in Theleme, lace topped and so very high they nearly brushed her thighs. The woman had not even bothered removing them when she had finally taken him to bed. 

There should have been a difficulty between seeing such things on a well-paid woman of the night and imagining them on a proper lady, especially when that lady was a much beloved cousin. 

Swallowing thickly, Constantin pushed a hand through his hair. He was too warm, hot almost, with a sort of feverish sweat to his brow.

There _ should _ have been a difficulty. 

_ But for the life of him he could not find his decency, and his mind was filled with such wicked, decadent thoughts that- _

“Constantin?” 

Winifred’s voice seemed very far away indeed, and Constantin returns to the present to find himself a great deal further than he expected. Indeed he was standing in the shadow of the gardener’s cottage, partially obscured from the moonlight. 

Given his sudden, pressing state, it was a small mercy. 

Turning towards her, he watched all but transfixed as she came to him. Pale gown turning silver in the moonlight, he groaned and uttered something profane when, with a shock, he realized that her chaste linen gown was anything but. 

_ Was it that his imagination now sought to torment him? _

_ Did she not realize the moonlight rendered her shift nearly transparent? _

He could make out the shape of her beneath the layers, could see the shadow of her corset and swell of her breasts, the lovely curve of her waist and hips. 

He inhaled sharply and closed his eyes, reeling from the sensation.

_ It was too much. _

_Did she not know the picture she made, the pleasing way she swayed as she moved, as if her gait were the first steps of a sensual dance? _

When at last she drew parallel, he had his coat pulled from his shoulders, and offered it to her in what he hoped might be mistaken for gentlemanly consideration. 

When she accepted, he was relieved to find that it covered her comfortably, completely. 

“I do believe you were _ dancing _.” He teased after a moment spent composing himself, “Has the field freed you properly from the shackles of convention?” 

‘Perhaps.” Her eyes were bright as she looked up at him “I felt strange for a moment, when my feet touched the earth. A wildness, an _ awareness _.” 

Her smile was small, private, beautiful, “For just a moment, everything felt almost _ in tune _, and I was part of it all. It almost made me forget.” 

“Forget?” 

“You were walking so swiftly that I wondered if you meant to run away after all.”

“Run?” His lips quirked, “With you, my fair cousin, what need have I to run?

“Promise me you will wait at least until next week if the thought does cross your mind. You should be fully recovered by then.” 

Perhaps his mother had been right. As he looked down at Winifred’s earnest expression, the thought crossed his mind and rang with an uncomfortable truth. The one capable of holding his leash would do so with gentleness rather than force, and only his darling cousin had ever managed that. 

“There will be no _ running away _on my part, Winifred. This is where I want to be.” He sighed, tucking the coat around her before offering his arm, “Shall we finish our tour?” 

And when she nodded in silent agreement, he turned them both towards the estate in a gentle curve that allowed them to linger in that haze of lavender glory. 

But where he had once filled the air with his chatter, Constantin finds that their return trip is rife with quiet. _ He _is quiet, for he does not know what to make of the feelings that still linger so close to the surface. 

Desire. At its core he recognizes it for what it is, a familiar companion. But it is not the insistent heat of want that worries him. 

Glancing down at Winifred, he can see the hint of a smile on her lips, the serenity of her expression. It is a struggle to understand, to make sense of the woman who fits so perfectly at his side and the insistent hum of _ something _ which continues to sing through his veins. 

“Shall we take this tour again tomorrow?” She asks, looking up at him, “And every evening after that?” 

“Together?” His lips curve into a slow smile. 

“Yes, come rain or shine, storm or snow.” Her nose wrinkles as she grins, “I do believe I can brave anything with you here beside me.” 

“And so we shall.” He promises, feeling his heart trip in his chest. 

And that is when he knows, when he _ understands _. 

It is not insatiable lust that threatens to undo him. Rather it is the whisper of this woman upon his heart, the echo of her softness that has the power to lay his heart open with a gentle caress. 

She has the power to destroy him utterly. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winifred finds that her dreams lead her to dangerous places.  
Constantin surprises more than a few people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings. I realize this chapter has been a bit of a wait, but it did give me the time to plan out a few plot points and really dig in. You may notice that this chapter is pretty long too :) 
> 
> We're going to start increasing the drama as our favorite pair begins to discover each other, and we'll see where they go from there. 
> 
> To all of you who kudo'd and especially to those of you who took the time to write such thoughtful and considerate comments: thank you again. I don't know that I'll ever be able to truly express how much your words mean to me, but they really are the fuel that keeps this writer going. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!  
~Voi

For the fifth time in as many days, Winifred woke up to find herself sweatstreaked and overwarm. Pressing trembling hands to her forehead, she tried to wipe the guilty images from her mind, wishing her body did not ache in a way that had nothing to do with illness.

Exhaling slowly, Winifred waited for her heart to steady in her breast, consciously avoiding the echoing twinge left by her dream. 

“Blanche.”

She didn’t bother shouting, she was a creature of habit, and her maid had long since settled into a familiar routine that suited them both. Or at least, suited them most of the time. Blanche had given her a knowing look yesterday while having to change the sheets _ yet again _ . They had been friends for so long that Winifred had merely blushed and stammered an apology before requesting water for a bath, only to find one waiting for her, lightly scented with lavender, _ to soothe her nerves. _

Blanche was an exemplary lady’s maid, but she had a _ worldly _sense of humor. 

“Good morning, your excellency.” 

Blanche entered her room with her usually efficiency, her willowy figure moving precisely around the room as she opened the curtains and began to prepare the day gown that Winifred had selected the day before. 

“Was your sleep more restful last night?” Blanche asked, her lips already quirked into a grin. 

“I daresay likely better than yours, now that your lover has returned from the city.” Winifred was feeling less than charitable, and she had no qualms with referencing Blanche’s beau if that meant the woman might stop her own teasing. 

“My lady!” Shocked at her lady’s uncharacteristic cheekiness, Blanche flushed, “What a wicked thing to say!” 

“And yet, I suspect I am quite correct.” The imbalance in experience meant that Winifred was always at a disadvantage, but she was quite happy to give as good as she got, “I was not so preoccupied that I missed your ardent welcome.” 

Winifred smiled impishly, “You should have at least waited until the stable doors closed behind you, Constantin nearly saw everything during our evening stroll. I had to distract him by pointing out the pond on the far side of the garden.”

Blanche’s expression lit up, “Ah, so it was you who told his lordship about the pond?” 

There was something beneath the woman’s question that made Winifred sit up in slow suspicion. “It was indeed. Though why do you ask?” 

“Oh...no reason.” The woman spoke the words in a sort of singsong voice that could only mean trouble was brewing on the horizon. 

“Blanche.” 

“Perhaps your excellency would like to take a look at what has chosen to _ swim _in the pond this morning?” 

Winifred froze, eyes growing steadily larger as the words settled around her, the implication. 

_Constantin_ _wouldn’t have...would he?_

She took two dazed steps towards the windows that might offer a view before catching herself and changing her course. 

“He..._ would _.” Sitting down at her vanity Winifred waited for Blanche to begin with her hair, “Of course he would. I should have known.”

“Would milady not care to see the..._ fish _before beginning the day?” The other woman asked, still lingering by the window, head tilted as she took in the view. 

“It would not be proper.” Voice crisp, Winifred remained where she was. 

“No, I suppose not. Still...tis a fine view. ” Blanche nodded solemnly, smoothing her apron before suggesting, “Would my lady prefer to peek from behind the curtain instead?” 

There was a guilty pause as Winifred glanced again in the direction of the pond. With her bedroom on the second floor of the estate she would have an excellent view indeed. 

“Perhaps...just a moment?” Swallowing, she allowed herself to be guided to the window, pausing just short of the gauzy curtains so that she might not be seen. 

_ “Oh.” _There was a sudden rush of scarlet across Winifred’s cheeks as she caught sight of the man slicing smoothly through the water with a sort of single-minded intensity that surprised and intrigued her in equal measure. 

“He is quite handsome, isn’t he, Winifred.” 

“Constantin has always been handsome.” She confessed, too taken in by the scene to measure her words in a way that was proper, “But his worth was always more than that.” 

“Indeed. But I suspect this is the first time you’ve ever truly understood the power that such beauty can wield. You look _ smitten, _your excellency.” 

Winifred shook her head, cheeks still pink but brow now creased in distress, “I cannot be. It would not be correct.” 

“And have you never done something because you desired it? Regardless of propriety?” 

There was a flash of grief and shame in Winifred’s breast at the question. She had only dared once and her heart had still yet to recover. She shook her head, “There are few things worthy enough to warrant such breaking of the rules. If I am to guide my cousin properly through a Season I cannot risk such things.” 

Blanche seemed to sigh as she began to uncoil Winifred’s hair from its sleeping bonnet. 

“I do not ever think I will understand nobility, milady.”

“Oh?” Winifred watched the other woman in the looking glass. 

“Doing what is counter to your heart’s desire, following what is proper rather than what you wish.” Blanche shook her head sorrowfully, “It seems a terrible burden.” 

“This is simply the way of things.” Winifred explained patiently, looking down at the thin gold band that circled her thumb, feeling her heart twist in her chest, “We are beholden to these structures if we wish to rule.”

“I am not sure power is worth the lack of freedom.” Blanche said, knowing the ring for what it was, a lover’s token. 

Winifred smiled wanly, as she tugged on her gloves, hiding it from view. 

“I suspect Constantin would agree with you.” 

XX

Shortly after Blanche finished with her dressing, Winifred found herself in the sparring ring, not to begin her lessons but to give fair warning to Kurt who would be responsible for returning Constantin back to proper form. 

“Good morning, green blood.” 

“Good morning, Kurt.” Her smile was sunny, relaxed in a way that usually spelled trouble for her faithful master of arms. 

“Alright...what did ye get up to now?” 

She laughed, “Nothing yet. But _ you, _my friend, will be busy today. Blanche provided the schedule I wrote?” 

“Aye, she did…” Kurt’s face was one of long suffering good humor, “Are ye sure you don’t want to join us for this lesson? It might encourage our young heir to stick around after his first beating.” 

“I thought I might return at the end of the hour to see how he is doing. But I have to make arrangements before the dance lesson, and I still need to brush up on the history of the Bridge Alliance’s economic history for our studies after that.” 

Her friend laughed, “Very well then. I will keep him busy for the full duration. I still have a few surprises up my sleeve.”

Winifred nodded, “I trust your judgement, Kurt. I shall bring him once we have had our morning meal.” 

Kurt shook his head, “He and I have already conversed this morning, green blood. He’ll come find me when he’s ready. He knows the schedule as well as you.” 

Her smile widened, “That is good news indeed.” 

  


XX

Constantin was still pink faced from his morning swim when he entered the library where Winifred was studying. She had made good time with the pianist, and so had dutifully begun her other tasks. 

The quiet of the room had been broken by periodic birdsong, but it was the low groan of the heavy wooden door that made her look up in time to see her cousin cross the room. 

His face lit in a winsome smile, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he rounded her desk to stand beside her.

“Good morning.” She murmured, warmed by his tenderness. 

“My lucky star.” He shook his head in disbelief as he spied column after column of densely packed script on the papers that cluttered her desk, “You shall exhaust me before breakfast with your work ethic. I am in awe.” 

He spoke softly, in deference to their presence in the library, but his eyes glittered. 

“Well, we certainly cannot have that.” She allowed him to pull her seat away as she rose, “Shall we go through?” 

His gloved hand extended to take her own, and with a practiced twirl he tucked her against him in their usual fashion. They had both dressed with the day’s festivities in mind, and so there was no coat, nor hard-hooped skirts or bustles. Instead they found themselves arm-in-arm with naught but fine linen and the softness of calfskin gloves between them, the closeness of their proximity an unremarked but certainly not unnoticed detail. 

For Winifred, the feel of him so close soothed the ache that seemed to haunt her whenever they were apart. It was perhaps improper to indulge in such things, but she allowed herself the moment knowing that when they returned to Serene, propriety would need to be given its due. 

She had been given the good fortune to be born a lady, it mattered to her that she did what was proper. As a child she had always been aware that she had been different, at least outwardly. The flowering mark on her jaw meant that attention would be on her at all times. For her mother and her household, she had strived to be beyond reproach, that her ability to navigate the currents of all spheres of politics be unquestioned. 

And yet, such a talent had felt as if it had come at great cost…

_ Her happiness. _

She glanced at her gloved hand for only a moment, before the flash of sunlight through a window makes her realize that they have entered the estate’s atrium rather than the dining room. 

“I had rather hoped you might indulge me in a surprise of my own making.” Constantin confessed when Winifred looked up at him with a confused frown.

“I know you will be busy today, with preparations to my benefit. I thought it might be welcome to have a more casual meal now so that you could enjoy the peace before the proverbial storm.” 

“I shall never protest your kindness.” Winifred responded, touched by the gesture, “Where is this surprise to take place?” 

His expression lit with boyish enthusiasm and his other hand touched the one that lay upon his arm, “Patience, dearest cousin. You shall see soon enough.” 

And so she did, for no sooner had they left the stately glass and lead abode when she spotted the basket waiting for them. Perched patiently at the entrance of the garden’s pergola, she knew his intent immediately. 

“A picnic?” Her lips curved into a wider smile, “You know I adore them.” 

“I thought as much.” Constantin grinned as he gallantly retrieved the large wicker contraption, “I will leave you to select the choicest place in the garden to sit. I shall play the loyal pack animal and carry our feast.” 

“Has cook filled it to bursting?” She wondered aloud even as she glanced around the lush green and white of the well manicured space. The large garden structure would be the obvious choice, but she longed for the green beneath her hands, her feet. 

Her cousin shook his head, “It was not cook who filled this, t’was I.” 

“Oh Constantin.” She laughed, glancing over her shoulder, where he followed at a more careful pace, “You are a constant source of delight and thoughtfulness.” 

“I do aim to please.” He hummed a light tune as they continued to walk. 

When she finally chose the sunniest spot in the center of the garden, Constantin was quick to elaborate on her selection with a soft blanket for sitting, a pair of cushions for their comfort and a generous collection of fruits, preserved meats, cheeses, and a still-cold bottle of sweetened tea. 

And though neither one of them spoke of it, both removed their shoes and short stockings so that they might enjoy the softness of the grass as well as the blanket. 

For Winifred, such an outing felt like an indulgence of the most unusual kind. Long since used to the fine dining of the city, the careful coordinated dance between serving staff and nobility, she ate now with a sort of free abandon. And when Constantin tossed a particularly succulent grape at her in jest, she found herself gamely catching it upon her lips, swallowing it to the sounds of his amused laughter. 

Delicate morsels of meat and cheese were dutifully exchanged on finely pronged forks, and she could not recall the last time she ate so heartily. Constantin for his part seemed only too happy to indulge in glass after glass of tea and the spicy charcuterie of the southern cities. 

It was only after their feast had ended, and they both lay back against the pillows in contented surrender that Constantin mentioned his morning swim. Turning to watch the wind lazily play with the golden hair upon his brow, Winifred felt her cheeks warm. 

“So I was told. Blanche was very surprised to see anyone swimming, it is not so common a habit..” 

“Blanche?” Constantin’s brow furrowed, and he rubbed at it as he thought, “Is she your lady’s maid, the one with the dimple?” 

“Yes, it was she who noticed you in the pond this morning. Caught you, rather.” 

“_ Caught _me?” His handsome face lit up as his brows rose, “Is she to report to you when she sees me doing something naughty? How intriguing. ” 

“That is _ not _what I’ve asked of her. But she is aware of my affection for you. I’m sure she thought she was doing her duty.” 

Sated and ever so relaxed, the words slipped easily from her lips, _ too easily. _

“Your affection?” He turned to his side as a strange expression crossed his face, “Dearest cousin, you have never told me of any such thing.” 

“That sir, is false. One cannot be as close as you and I without feeling some measure of true affection” Winifred tried to make light of what now threatened to be too serious a conversation, but there was a fissure of unease at his remarks. A dissonance that confused her. 

_ Surely he had read her letter? _

Feeling exposed, Winifred straightened and made to turn away, tilting her face towards the sunlight so that she might soothe the startling ache in her throat, her chest. 

But the moment for composure was lost when his hand touched her own, inadvertently brushing the ring that nestled against her finger. Jumping in surprise, she knew, even as she looked quickly away, that her good humor was gone from her face, lost in the slash of pain that was still too raw for her to properly hide. 

“Winifred?” He froze in an instant, unsure as to what he had done. “Forgive me cousin, have I done something ungallant?” 

“No, of course not.” 

A single deep breath was forced from her lungs with a controlled and single minded focus. Her expression smoothed over in the next moment, the hurt pushed away to be dealt with later. 

_ Maintain control. _

“I apologize.” The words on her lips were sincere, but the mask upon her face was a strange thing, a courtly thing. “I have not been sleeping well, and I suspect the strain is putting me in a sensitive humor. Please forgive me.” 

Constantin nodeed, but his expression was strained as he recognized her politely blank smile and the distance it implied, “I feel it is I who must apologize. I know you must have been busy these many days in preparation. The burden it must have been upon you was not something I had truly considered. If there is anything I can do to assist-” 

She shook her head, “If you will attend each lesson for the full breadth of time, then that will be as it should.” 

Sedately he nodded as he slowly rose to his knees, “Very well, then let us go and find Kurt.” 

  


XX

Winifred did not attend the lesson in swordplay. Having determined that her absence would not be missed, she had decided instead to finalize the rest of the day. But when Kurt arrived at the studio, covered in dirt and smelling far too ripe, she _ knew_, and paused long enough to talk to him. Experience had taught her that he would remain beside her until he had said his piece. 

“I thought you said you would be watching, green blood. It isn’t like you to break a promise, however small.” 

She seemed to shrink beneath is disapproval, once again the small girl he had trained with a teacher’s careful patience rather than the woman and equal she was now. 

“I know, Kurt. I have no excuse save for my own weakness of character.” 

His brows rose, “The day I believe you have any sort of moral flaw is the day the Prince and Princess may relieve me of my duties. You are the strongest woman I know, the most decent of any of these prissy soft-handed nobles.” 

His comments were familiar in the coarseness, their honesty, and made Winifred smile despite the lingering shadow upon her mood. 

“Now then, how much of this business has got to do with that cousin of yours?” 

She sighed, leaning against the wall in a way that was decidedly _ not _ladylike but comfortable. Kurt was very much the big brother she wished she had and, just like Blanche, those of her household were dear to her, as close as family.

So it was that she spoke a little of her fears, the unsteadiness she felt around her cousin and the lingering hurt that she had no word for. Through it all, he listened, allowing her remarks to wash over them both until she had said her piece. He knew better than to offer her a suggestion, the complexity of her own station was far above what he felt comfortable with maneuvering. But he could lend an ear, and at times, a shoulder. This was one of them. 

It was only sometime later, as Kurt was departing, that he finally mentioned the contents of the lesson. 

“If he complains about why I beat him so thoroughly, tell him it was to remind him to still his wandering eye.” 

Her brows rose, “Constantin would never chase any of the servants into his bed. He has too much consideration for them.” 

“I know, the boy is a decent sort. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get annoyed.” Kurt groused, “My Blanche kept looking his way.” 

Winifred laughed, “I don’t believe that for a second, she adores you.” 

The man flushed scarlet in an instant, and tugged his helmet back on, mumbling as he backed away, “Maybe she does.” 

And then, without another word he disappeared down the hall. Likely, Winifred thought, to find a hot bath and perhaps then his lady, in whichever order he happened upon them. 

But as one disappeared, the other entered, and Constantin appeared in the ballroom before the door could properly swing closed. 

“Winifred?” His face was a picture of concern, “I apologize for being late. Have I ruined the lesson?” 

“Not at all.” Her time with Kurt helped provide at least a basis for her cousin’s delay, he looked freshly washed and dried yet again. She managed a polite smile, “Kurt was just telling me of the past few hours.” 

“Was he?” Constantin grimaced, looking around the room as if he might prefer to begin this lesson than discuss the one that had just finished.

“It seems you impressed him.” She offered the sentiment delicately. 

“That seems unlikely.” He sighed, “I failed quite miserably with the rapier, and he certainly felt no need to check his intensity when we changed to sabres.” 

“I think he was trying to send you a message.” Winifred paused, glancing guiltily at her cousin, “He mentioned it to me as such, suggested you were perhaps even daring to look at dear Blanche.”

Constantin scowled, pausing in his circuit around the room, “I do _ not _flirt with those who would serve us. It would not be fair to them, surely you know that.”

“Indeed, and so I said as much to him. As for Blanche…”

Constantin’s brows rose in sudden understanding, “He has an affection for her. Of course.” 

Pivoting away from the windows, he continued, “When she attended us for the lesson, I was my usual charming self, but perhaps I struck at the tender heart Kurt hides beneath all that armor.” 

Winifred smiled, “It does sound possible, yes.” 

“But Blanche is so well mannered, almost sweet.” 

His cousin smiled more broadly, “She can be.” 

“But Kurt is...” Constantin paused, reassessed, “Forgive me, but that explains more than it needs to.” 

Winifred was not about the break confidence more than she had, but she nodded sympathetically. 

Turning once more across the room, he was silent for several long moments before the words, and his true thoughts, rose to the surface. 

“I wish I could say that knowing he is capable of such tenderness makes him more approachable. But now I confess to feeling even more on edge.” 

Winifred pressed her lips together to stifle the laughter that threatened to bubble up. 

“Such is the burden of your beloved _ truth _, Constantin.” 

He sighed dramatically, “Indeed. Now then I should prefer to spend the remainder of our time focused on dancing rather than swordplay.” 

“Then that is what we shall do.” 

The music began a moment later, the first haunting strains of melody rising with a quiet weight that settled upon them as they stood poised to begin. Hand in hand, one then the other, they moved together in an instant, a seamless burst of motion that propelled them on sure feet to the very edge of the ballroom. 

Winifred knew the steps, could carry the tune in the shift of her body, the timing of her breath, but it was Constantin who held its heart. Or perhaps it was that, despite how she shied away, he held her heart. 

He was there at every turn, leading with a steady hand, a sensitive touch at the small of her back. In his arms, she found they moved almost effortlessly across the room, on feet that felt so light that she half expected to be dancing upon the air. 

“You said you might need assistance with dance.” She finally spoke, unable to keep the accusation from her voice.

“I usually do.” There was an honest smile on his lips, a certain shared surprise in his own expression, “But you understand me _ perfectly, _dearest.” 

When she looked as if she might protest, he simply shifted and she followed, unerringly finding her way to where she needed to be. 

“Do you not see?” He chuckled, as they continued onward, “You truly are my lucky star.” 

And for just a moment she wished to believe. 

  


XX

Blanche entered the small cottage with only a cursory knock as was her custom. Tucking the key into the pocket of her gown, she had only just set the kettle to boil when her lover entered the small kitchen. 

“Are we to start taking tea and cakes while our mistress dances?” He asked idly, brilliant eyes warming in appreciation. 

The woman smiled, withdrawing a small wrapped package from the bag on the table, “Lady De Sardet said we should, for the days will be long and very full. We are to keep our energy up.” 

“That I can agree with wholeheartedly.” Sinking into a sturdy wooden chair Kurt groaned, “I fear I am getting too old for this line of work.” 

“Was the young princeling truly so difficult?” Blanche wanted to know as she wrapped her arms around him, carding her small hands through his damp hair.

“Oh he’s no _ princeling _anymore. That one there is as wily as any of the other noble folk, as sharp as his father, I’m sure.” Kurt sighed, “He tricked me into delaying the lesson by nearly half.” 

“I did wonder at that. Her excellency mentioned she had a leisurely breakfast.” Blanche pressed a kiss to his cheek as she settled down upon his knee. 

“It was the strangest thing.” Kurt spoke slowly, eyes distant as he recalled the memory of the morning when Constantin had appeared before him, “He wished to strike a bargain, said there was some surprise he was working on.” 

Glancing at his pretty companion, the man paused, “That one has always been attracted to trouble. I was sure he was up to no good and told him I wouldn’t have it. But then he challenged me, told me that he had been keeping his studies up.” 

“You believed him?” 

“No, not at all.” Kurt chuckled, “He was never a horrible student, just undisciplined. I told him that if he could hit the target we use for practice three times in a row that I would allow him to take as much time as he wished with her excellency for breakfast.” 

“Oh?” 

“I expected him to throw a fit. Or cause some sort of commotion.” Thinking back on it, Kurt frowned, “Instead he looked pleased.” 

Blanche smiled up at him, “You are not often taken-in, my darling.” 

“I suppose not. All the more reason for me to be on my guard in the future.” 

He brushed his hand along her back, settled at her waist as the kettle began to squeal insistently. Rising from her place, Blanche settled two cups upon the wide wooden counter before glancing back at him. 

“So he _ did _hit the target three times?” 

Kurt shook his head, “It was more than that, lass.” 

Constantin had played into every expectation of being the same _ boy _when it came to swordfighting. Their afternoon lesson proved as much. 

But that morning, he had shown himself to be a man when challenged. It was _that _gentleman who had known how to use his pistol, had shown an unexpected mastery over it.

“He hit the target dead-on, a bullseye, every time.” Kurt shook his head, still trying to understand. “I still cannae believe it, Blanche. He was a bloody good shot.” 

  



	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unpleasant day leads to an unlucky adventure.   
Constantin learns about the costs of his demands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings. As you might have noticed, this one took me a bit more time. I rewrote many pieces of this one several times, and actually have a large section of the next chapter written precisely because I needed to cut it down. 
> 
> I wanted to start building out the woman who De Sardet will be, and that took some doing when this was a Constantin-pov chapter. 
> 
> Apologies for the delay, and thanks so much for all your support and patience with me.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Constantin stormed into his room, in the midst of what was undeniably one of his dark moods. The morning rain had made him irritable, and the lessons that followed, swordplay rather than dance, had only exacerbated the situation. 

A month had already passed, of dedication and practice. He was getting better, even Kurt had acknowledged such progress, but today that sentiment did little to soothe him. Thinking on it, Constantin felt a wave of unhappiness color his anger.

Muddy and tired, he could feel the earth beneath his fingernails, the sweat cooling across his back and the ache of sore muscles. Tugging roughly at his fine linen shirt, he snarled when the delicate fabric caught and tore, his patience lost as he threw it against the wall in blind anger.

Stalking to the wash basin, he began to scrub his hands with the sturdy brush he kept there for such a reason. A delicate knock on the door found him somewhere between tears and howling fury. 

“Constantin?” 

Winifred entered his room a moment later, ignoring his ugly silence to offer what comfort she could. Saying nothing, he continued his washing, waiting for her to speak. In the meantime he continued at his task, allowing himself to be as fastidious as time would allow. 

“Kurt mentioned you had stormed off.” 

Her voice was muted, though Constantin could not tell if it was because she spoke softly or that the rain outside had shifted now to a torrential downpour. 

“Pardon?” He glanced up, catching her eye for just a second before refocusing on the freshly scrubbed state of his hands. 

“Your lesson. You have left it incomplete.” 

He bit his tongue, and reminded himself that  _ she  _ had not earned his anger. But his temper was not so easily left and he could not quite curb the sharp cut of his sarcasm. 

“I did not storm off, I merely...determined my lesson had ended.” 

Winifred’s response, the measured volume and quality of her tone was uncompromising. “You promised him an hour of your time, Constantin. You gave him your word.” 

“We had a disagreement about the benefits of swordplay.” 

“What I saw in that arena was more than a disagreement.” There was little softness in his cousin’s voice now, but then she has always taken his training in self-defence more seriously than even Kurt. 

“You promised  _ me  _ you would practice until you are a passable swordsman.” She reminded him, when he sulked anew. “I am not asking you to become a duelist, but  _ please  _ make an effort, even if you dislike it.” 

“I am a decent enough shot.” He mumbled as he dried his hands, the scent of lavender dried-linens soothing the edges of his temper, “What need have I have for a sword?” 

She took two steps towards him, the click of her shoes on the floor making him look up from his wash basin. In an instant there was a dagger hilt pressed against his chest, the blunted handle chilling his skin where it sat above his heart. 

They both knew she had slowed to make her point, he never would have felt her blade passing through his ribs if she had truly intended him harm. But her message was clear, as was her obvious concern on his behalf. 

Her expression only deepened when he made to reach for the pistol at her waist and she deterred him with a forceful crack of her hand across his own. 

“You have no room to maneuver like this and if we were in a ballroom you might strike some innocent with your pistol.” 

She pressed him more insistently, “You need to be  _ prepared _ , Constantin. The Season is not just pretty ballrooms and innocent flirtations.” 

“None in the Congregation’s ballroom is  _ innocent _ .” Constantin responded bitterly. 

“Perhaps not.” She agreed quietly, tucking the dagger away as she spoke. She looked up at him, her expression somber, “I would hate for something to happen to you if I could not be there beside you.” 

His lips quirked upwards in a humorless smile, “Never leave my side?” 

She tried to smile, but it faltered, failed. “I may not always have a choice.” 

He chafed against her damnable  _ logic  _ but didn’t dare say anything, not when he knew he was being unreasonable. Not when  _ she  _ looked so very sad on his behalf. 

A pang of hurt, a beat of silence, before he finally relented, “As you say, cousin. It would be impossible for me to do such a thing. I shall rejoin Kurt momentarily.” 

She nodded then, the look of relief so sharp upon her face that he felt a corresponding pang of guilt.

“Winifred-” His hand found the edge of her sleeve just as she turned to go. “The cottage.” 

It was not a question for she would know exactly what he meant, what he was asking for. An afternoon away from lessons, time to themselves set apart from even the comforts of the estate. 

“We will not be able to take the carriage if it is raining.” She cautioned, “The terrain will be too difficult.” 

“Horses then, regardless of what the weather might hold.” 

“It will be dangerous.” She cautioned, eyeing the storm that seemed to be gathering outside. 

Constantin shook his head, “It will be perfect. 

XX

  
  


Kurt looked up from where he was cleaning a rapier to find himself no longer alone. There, at the far end of the cavernous training room was a familiar face.

“Returned to do your duty, princeling?” 

He gave no sign as to his surprise, but the master of arms, straightened readily as his student approached. 

“Grudgingly perhaps, but yes.” Constantin sighs, “I have come to finish my lesson.” 

“Lady De Sardet will be pleased.” 

“Indeed. And that is the only reason I am here.” There was a flash of something on the man’s face, “I gave my word.” 

“Your dedication does you credit, excellency. Now then, shall we begin?” 

The young man grimaced, but retrieved his prefered sword, settling himself as was expected.

Kurt checked his form before nodding gruffly, “Mind your guard at all times. Fight with honor.” 

XX

The ride to the cottage is a disaster, and whatever darkness had plagued Constantin that morning manifests itself in no less than ten armed bandits that find them while they traverse the mountainous path to the cottage. 

Of course, it is Winifred who spies them first. Crouched low on her mount, wearing a thick oiled cloak to ward off the rain, she comes alongside him and gestures to the figures who appear on the ridge, their speed and direction putting them on course for a meeting. 

It is the tension in her expression that tells him what he needs to know. And so he checks both his pistol and his sword as they draw closer. 

“Let me speak to them.” 

Her voice, low and steady, is a balm to his nerves. But even with her presence he finds he cannot help the way his heart begins to race as the group thunders towards them. 

He has lived through all manner of kidnapping and assasination attempts at court, such experiences are commonplace among the nobility and so there are certain expectations. The first time he was ever kidnapped he found himself in a well appointed hunting lodge while his captor, a lesser Prince looking for influence, negotiated the terms of his ransom. 

The group that approached them now could not be relied on to have such refined taste. And for all that he appreciated a touch of danger, the man at the head of the column looked particularly forbidding, silhouetted as he was against the storm clouds. 

“Cousin-” 

Winifred rode forward before he could warn her, could bid her to  _ be careful _ . They were all armed, he could make out the glint of swords and flint-locked pistols. But still she rode to meet them, positioning herself so that she stood firmly in their path. 

Swallowing hard against the unease, he watched their exchange from a distance, unable to hear over the roar of the rain, the howl of the wind. And in that moment he regretted his flight of fancy, his desire for  _ escape _ when it was she who would once again be facing down such risks on his behalf. 

As children she had done this on countless occasions, with his father and his mother, the ever changing collection of tutors and even their beloved governess. But as she stood before him now, his bulwark against the elements, he realized that the stakes had risen so very high since they had last been together. A failure on her part to convince them would be serious indeed, perhaps even fatal. 

And though he trusted her, as he always had, he had to acknowledge his own hand in bringing them to this particular meeting. He exhaled shakily when she finally rode back, watching in wondering disbelief at the ten figures turned away as well. 

“Are you alright, cousin?” She paused next to him, lifted her hood just enough so that he could see her expression, “You look quite pale.” 

“I feel as if I have just run a great distance, it is a heady thing.” He laughed breathlessly, “That was utterly terrifying, I feel as though I may faint. I have no idea how you convinced them to spare us, but I am so very glad you did.” 

“It is perhaps part of my charm.” She said after a moment, her expression easing slowly into a small, pleased smile. “Shall we continue? We are almost here.” 

And indeed they were, for there nestled into the distant treeline was the sharp shape of the cottage, its wooden frame weathered nearly silver by the elements. But their luck was not to hold. 

They had just passed into the line of trees when a shot rang out.

For Constantin the sound screamed past his right ear with such sharpness that he swayed. World pitching sideways, his heart pounding in his ears, he clung to the horn of his saddle. 

“Stay upright!” Winifred was there in the next moment, her hand grasping him by the coat to anchor him, maneuvering them both more deeply into the woods as several more shots exploded around them. 

Pulling them behind a particularly large boulder, she dismounted before helping him do the same. Struggling to breath, he found it harder still to remain upright, but the hand on his arm was firm. And so despite the way he staggered, he kept on his feet. 

“Deep breath, just like when we practice.” Her voice was low and soothing in his good ear, unhurried, as if they had all the time in the world.

It helped. Her words steadied his nerves, returned strength to his legs. Glancing down to his belt, Constantin slowly unhooked both pistol and dagger. He was not fully proficient, but perhaps it would be enough to support her. 

“Remain hidden.” Winifred’s order was firm, the point of her sword glinting when she gave it a quick flick towards a well positioned bit of shadowed brush, “I will need you to surprise them if this does not go well.” 

He does as she asks, easing himself into that space to watch and wait. Years of mischief mean he knows how to move quietly, and it is not such a stretch to turn that stealth to an advantage. 

But he finds that once more he is at her back, watching as she puts herself in harm's way on his behalf. And as before, Winifred makes herself seen, posing as an easy target so that they might come to her. There are five of them this time, less than the first, but just as dangerous. 

Despite the way they outnumber her, she remains calm, poised. There seems to be little leadership amongst those that gather, but a tall rangy man steps forward when she addresses them. 

“Your leader promised us safe passage.” She spoke steadily, “What would he say to know that you had made him a liar?” 

“He won’t say anything if we come back with your gold.” The bandit says as he fingers the flint-lock on his rifle and grins, “Congregation’s coffers are overflowing by the looks of it.” 

“You are receiving a share of gold for keeping the peace.” She seems unruffled by the suggestion of violence, “That agreement will dissolve if any in the Congregation is harmed by your hand.” 

Pulling a small square of cloth from beneath her cloak she lifts the embroidered symbol of the bandits so that they might see. “Do you truly wish to undo all the work the Wolf has done?” 

Constantin can see the ripple of unease that her words have on at least one of the men. And sure enough the largest bruiser takes several steps backwards. 

“Keep your nerve, gents. This one here is just trying to save her skin.” 

“I’m not entirely sure you understand the gravity of this situation.” Winifred’s voice has gone cold, “It is  _ your  _ skin that I am trying to save. For even if you do murder me here, the Congregation will know what has happened to me, and their rage will know no bounds. Do not think that we are blind to the camp you have built at the river’s mouth. You live there, in peace, because we permit it.” 

The severity of her words is enough to scare off two, leaving just the slender-limbed man and the stubborn lackies who must be his close associates. 

“You’ve got a silver tongue on you, Princess.” The bandit laughs, as he watches the deserters flee, the sound a wild, unhinged sort of chuckle that reverberated in his throat. 

He tears the sword from its scabbard a moment later, dashing forward to lunge at her. “I’ll enjoy getting proper use of it before I cut it out.” 

It is the crack of Constantin’s shot that stops the fiend before his blade can connect, blasting him sideways as Winifred steps around to deal with the other two that look to close the distance. 

With the element of surprise gone, the fighting becomes more dire. Constantin finds that despite the wound he had inflicted, his enemy seems all the more crazed. Dodging a wild swing, parrying another, the muscles in his arms ache from the ferocity of the other man’s attacks. But Kurt has taught him well, taught them  _ both  _ well, and when at last Constantin spies an opening in the man’s stance, it is a sharp vicious stab with his dagger that ends him. 

But with it comes the heat of blood upon his hand, the sudden shocking heat that he feels through his gloves.

“Constantin?” 

He does not know how long he stands there staring at the corpse that was once a man. His world seems to narrow on the unnatural stillness, the blood and the strange sprawl of the body. But perhaps it is the expression locked on the man’s face, his death mask, that bothers him most of all. 

“Constantin.”

It is the touch of her hand that shakes him from his stupor. No fleeting gossamer stroke, her hands clamp around his arms with enough force to bring them face to face, close enough so that he can see the emotion etched upon her features. 

“Cousin?” He speaks as if he can barely recognize her, for in that moment he does not recognize himself. Who  _ he  _ has become. 

_ He has killed a man.  _

Emotion tightens his throat until he thinks he might choke. Like a ship seeking safe harbor, his arms are around her a moment later, anchoring himself with her quiet strength. 

“Are you hurt?” She asks after a time, hand rubbing slow soothing circles against his back, “Constantin, you are  _ trembling _ .” 

“Not a scratch.” His voice is rough with emotion.

“Your first kill will stay with you.” She sighs, and the sound is sad but not regretful, “But I promise that time will dull the sharpness.” 

“Will it ever get easier?” He wants to know, hoping it will.

Gently pulling back, Winifred’s hands find the side of his face, smoothing the hair from his brow, the tears from his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Constantin. But if you are a good person, it will not. Indeed such things _never_ _should _get easier.”

He absorbs her words with a contemplative silence, following her when she leads them away from the battlefield and returns them to where they had left the horses. Through it all she keeps her hand in his own, a tether of warmth that helps fight the chill that has settled itself in his chest, wrapped itself around his heart. 

“Let us go to the cottage now.” She says firmly, as she helps him get into the saddle, pausing to make sure he’s steady, “It looks like it might rain again.” 

XX 

The cottage was sort of place that seemed removed from time. Where the city buzzed with industry, and the estate hummed with the memories of golden summers, the cottage was the mountain’s silent secret. 

Or at least, as close to a secret as the nobility could have. The building itself was maintained by  _ someone,  _ but its presence went largely unremarked and there had never been any sign of who the other inhabitants might be. 

When the summer storm returns with insistence, Constantin find that the solitude suits him. Standing beneath the covered porch, watching the deluge spill from the boughs of the pine trees, the world seems to quiet. The memories of violence and danger are left, at least temporarily, behind the curtain of glittering silver rain. 

From the corner of his eye, Constantin watches as his cousin inhales slowly, deeply, as if she were surfacing after an impossibly long dive beneath the waves. Perhaps he was not the only one so affected by the events of the day. 

“Winifred?” 

He speaks her name tenderly, but there is shame there as well. She had cared for him today, with firmness and patience when dealing with his foul mood and then protected him bodily on their journey. Reflecting on such nobility put into stark contrast how little he had reciprocated, how utterly short he had fallen of his own expectations. 

When she says nothing, seemingly lost in the sights of the forest, he steps closer but demands nothing. After so much wrought from his impatience, he will wait.

When she returns to herself, she offers him a small but tired smile, “Do you need something of me, Constantin?” 

His heart aches, even now she would offer him comfort with none saved for herself. Shaking his head slowly, he brushes a wayward bit of hair from her face, frowning when he realizes the smudge of dirt upon her cheek is actually a bruise. 

“I had hoped I might offer you something in return.” He says after a moment, shaken at the implication, “You have cared for me most effectively today, with grace and patience.” 

“There is nothing to repay, cousin.” Her smile curves more generously, but her gaze remains demure, “I do so because you are dear to me.”

As before, her response is spoken so softly that he can scarcely hear it over the din of the rain. 

“Forgive me, Winifred, but I feel I must insist.” He touches her hands gently to try and make his case, “You were injured on my behalf, it is not correct.”

“Because I am a lady?” 

He shakes his head, and this time she does not look away. She has never seen him so serious, his mouth set in a firm line, his clear eyed look so very direct. 

“You are dear to me, Winifred, more than any other. And yet, I could not protect you as you protected me.” 

“You did.” The protest bursts from her lips, defending him even from himself.

“I  _ tried _ .” Constantin responded, his expression grave, “But you were correct this morning when you cautioned me against pride. I am not worthy of such tenderness when my pride continues to get in the way of true growth.” 

Her eyes filled then, with temper rather than sadness. “You are  _ never  _ unworthy of me, Constantin D’Orsay, do not dare say such a thing.” 

Touched, the expression eases the corner of his mouth as he gazes upon her, “Oh, my lucky star, how brightly you shine for me even now.” 

And as he looks at her with such heart, her cheeks flush becomingly. He knows his have done the same.

“Shall we retire to the comforts of the cottage?” He offers suddenly bashful, “I can prepare a small meal while you bathe.” 

And so begins their evening. 

XX

The cottage has no proper kitchen, but Constantin has traveled enough to know how to work with a hearth fire and a sturdy pot. As the cottage has both, it is little trouble to pull together the trappings of a very basic meal. 

Such low-brow domesticity would be unthinkable in the presence of his parents, or indeed most of his acquaintances. That Winifred is none of these is a great comfort. But when she reappears in the cozy room that is the cottage’s singular living space, Constantin finds that the easy companionship of the early hours has abandoned him, leaving only sharp awareness in its place. 

“Are you enjoying yourself, cousin?” 

It is her voice that summons his attention, husky and low like the shadows that have settled with the evening. Wrapped as she is in a thick shawl, the way the golden light of the fire delights in dancing upon her features is enough to cause his pulse to jump. 

Hair soft, skin freshly washed, she is a picture of health. And though he has seen the softness of her before, today he is reminded of her strength as well. 

“Shall I mind the evening meal while you take a turn in the washroom?” Offering aid, she tugs the shawl more tightly around her shoulders, warding away the slight sting of cold that the hearth has not yet removed. 

“Have you left the water warm enough for a soak?” He teases, knowing her affection for such things. 

Her lips curve in an enigmatic smile, “Perhaps.” 

And so he goes, disappearing into the small but well appointed wash room. It is luxurious by all possible observations, not only because there is a faucet for fresh water, but because, as he touches the water that flows from the spigot, he realizes that it is heated as well. 

Such a thing is impossible without a stove of sorts, but there is none to be found. And the lack of it builds his curiosity higher. Poking his head out of the room, he opens his mouth to ask about her use of magic when he catches sight of his beloved cousin and finds his voice fails him completely. 

Gone is the thick shawl from her shoulders, and the shift she wears leaves little of her modesty hidden. Where the moonlight had teased and tormented, he finds that the flame  _ sears  _ the image of her sensuous form into his mind’s eye. 

He is returned to the washroom before he can utter a word, pulse racing with such speed that he feels he will fall over at the intensity of it. And where once the heat of the water seemed a welcome reprieve, the sting of it upon his skin now seems to only increase his torment. Feverish, he sinks beneath the steaming basin to find himself all but overcome with all manner of ungentlemanly wants and desires. 

He had done well up until that point to control himself, to avoid treading too deeply into such trenches of thought. But now, with Winifred so very close, and their privacy all but assured, he finds himself helplessly lost to his imaginings. 

His free hand grips the side of the wash basin as he finds the wicked workings of his mind spin the scene so very easily to his liking. That instead of returning to bathe, he had crossed the room to hold her.

Already he can feel the press of her form in his arms, the curves of her body against his own hardness. The delicate sound of her breath as it catches in her throat, the expression she would make at the touch of his lips upon her own. 

_ Might we remain forever in this golden summer, beloved.  _

He had written of such sentiment to her many years ago. In this fever dream they were her words to him. 

And when her hand settles over his own, drawing his touch to her bosom, he swears he can see the glitter of gold upon her finger. She wears the ring he had made, delicate and carved with the pattern of lavender sprigs. A promise kept, a bond that remained unbroken despite time and distance. 

_ Might our hearts forever delight in such a cherished company.  _

As he crests that final wave of pleasure, feeling the strength of his desire pull him beneath the waves of consciousness, he bites his lips against this groan of pleasure.

_ Forever be my lucky star.  _

  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Winifred receives a letter and rushes to her mother's side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings - Happy New Year! 
> 
> I am so so sorry that this took me so very long. Have you ever heard the saying about how working in the video game industry just means you have less time to actually play video games (or write about them)? This is actually very true - and unfortunately it's taken me this long to recover. 
> 
> That being said, I am very pleased with how this chapter turned out. To be honest, this one did not go as I had planned - and it actually ruins a bunch of plot work I had done for later chapters. But there's something I really enjoy about the set-up here that I think (I hope) you will appreciate as we make this journey further down the rabbit hole. 
> 
> Thanks again to all of you wonderful, thoughtful, PATIENT, reviewers and readers. These chapters continue to be written because of you and your enthusiasm. 
> 
> J'adore. 
> 
> ~Voi

Winifred knocked on the door of her mother’s salon feeling as if she lived between breaths caught in the middle of two distinct truths. Here in the hall, she stood in the present, her life a known if somewhat unexciting quantity. What lay on the other side of the door would change this in a drastic, and indeed sobering way. 

It would be her final step out of childhood, one she had lingered in due to her privileged upbringing, her protective family. 

“Come in.” 

The voice was muted, but Winifred recognized the easy command that colored those few words. 

She tried to find some semblance of a smile as she pushed the grand oak piece open upon ancient hinges. 

“Mother...” 

She had a small speech planned, had recited it over and over to herself on her journey back to Serene. It had become a mantra, something she had clung to as the rigorous travel had taken its toll. But as she caught sight of her beloved parent, seated in a favorite chair and framed in afternoon sunlight, Winifred felt the words stick in her throat. 

It had scarcely been a month since they had last seen one another, but the changes that had been wrought were profound, impossible to ignore and  _ devastating _ . 

In silence she struggled against the tide of emotion that rose high enough to drown. Perhaps she had not truly understood until she had seen it for herself. There was no missing the violently scarlet rash that snaked out from beneath lace trimmed sleeves, clawed its way across her mother’s cheek. 

Crossing the room, Winifred knelt when her own strength deserted her, clasping her mother’s hand to try and hold sorrow at bay with maternal strength. 

“I am so pleased you have visited me, my darling daughter.” The princess embodied tranquility as she spoke. There was no mark of illness in her voice, no change in that comforting timbre. “I apologize for the dramatic summons, your uncle was quite distressed when the doctors made their determination.” 

Gazing up at her, Winifred could see deeper shadows beneath her mother’s eyes, the creeping rash had begun the steady crawl up her neck, a noose set upon the noble line of her throat. 

_ Malichor.  _

“I did not mind the letter.” She managed to respond at last, her voice quivering, “Indeed, I am glad to be told of such things. You were feeling unwell before I left, and I should have taken better care-”

“No.” The princess offered the word with a gentle squeeze, “This is not something you could have influenced my dear. Even the most talented doctors have expressed their confusion, I will not have you hold yourself responsible,” 

Winifred allowed the silence to grow rather than argue, her heart too full of guilt to allow such easy unburdening. Her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she looked away for a moment to blink them away.

“How long do you plan on visiting?” The Princess continued, gazing out at the gloriously sunny day that brightened the solarium, “The Season will not be for another two months.”

“Do you truly wish me to focus on the trappings of court when you are so grievously ill?” Winifred whispered, her words tight with sorrow. 

“Of course. You are a dutiful daughter, a brilliant diplomat and a well respected chaperone of the young aristocracy. None of this is changed by my health. You are needed elsewhere.” 

“Mother-” 

Sharp eyes turned from the window to pin her in place, “Do you truly mean to say that you would sacrifice Constantin on the altar of marriage that his mother intends for him?” 

Winifred jerked, “This is not about Constantin.” 

“It  _ is _ . Every choice you make is a compromise of priorities. If you choose one, the other will not benefit from your attention.” 

“I should be by your side as we seek council from physicians,” Winifred insisted, protested, “Father is not alive to support you, and Uncle is far too busy with courtly intrigue. I cannot bear to think of you suffering through this alone.” 

The small chuckle that danced upon the Princess’ lips was a gentle reproof, “Your intentions are pure, my dear. But Florence will be attending me as always.” 

Florence, the elderly lady’s maid, had been her mother’s right hand for as long as Winifred could remember. She had wondered more than a few times if the close relationship between them was perhaps more intimate that was acknowledged at court. But if her mother had pursued a closer relationship, she was, as ever, a master of discretion.

“I still wish to help in some way.” Winifred insisted, “At the very least let me speak with Uncle to see that there is a plan for finding specialists for your care.” 

A smile grew, slow and lovely, upon her mother’s lips, “That would be appreciated. But he will be busy until tomorrow morning. In the meantime, have your evening meal and then enjoy the townhouse. I know it has been a very long journey, I encourage you to make use of the spa.”

The directions were a familiar one, borne from a different era when Winifred would return from afternoons running around the city. 

Trying for levity, to take a step away from the chasm of despair that threatened to swallow her, Winifred teased, “Mother, are you suggesting that I smell?” 

“Indeed.” The Princess’ eyes sparkled with mirth, “You smell of horse, and sweat and I suspect whatever perfume our dear Mister Rhodes had on hand when you arrived. It is not a flattering combination my dear girl.” 

She felt her cheeks burn in embarrassment, but their shared laughter seemed to brighten the room, if just for a moment. 

“As you say mother, I shall go bathe at once.” 

XX

Constantin finds her in the private parlor, huddled in a large armchair with a small basket of silken thread at her feet. Brow furrowed in concentration, his sudden appearance in the space goes, at least for the moment, unnoticed. And indeed it is not until he gently knocks against the doorframe that there is any change in the steady cadence of Winifred’s needlework. 

Looking up from the small embroidery hoop, her eyes widen in surprise when she spies him, eyes missing nothing as they sweep from head to toe. His waistcoat is unbuttoned and his shirt is so hastily laced that she can see a rather generous swath of his chest. He looks badly rumpled, or perhaps rushed. 

_ Worried.  _

“Constantin?” She rises to her feet and drops her work into the basket so that he can clasp both her hands in his own. But rather than reply, he pulls her wordlessly into a solid embrace. 

_ Warm.  _

Winifred closes her eyes, as she melts against him, too emotionally battered by her earlier shock to fight against this indulgence. Arms settling around his waist, there is no hesitation in the way her body settles against him, no helping the small sigh that whispers past her lips in such honest relief. 

“I was worried sick.” Constantin’s words are hoarse with emotion and his hand cradled the back of her head.“You disappeared without a word.” 

The words might have been an accusation on another man’s lips, but the tremble of Constantin’s touch tells her he means his words very differently. 

“I…” Winifred glances up at him in dawning realization, embarrassed by her own actions, “Forgive me. I had not realized how rude, how distressing, that must have been when I left the estate in such a state.” 

Guilt makes her look away, “Unintentional though it was, I understand I acted without consideration.” 

Constantin’s touch returns her attention to him just in time to see his eyes darken, “My dear cousin, you received notice that your mother is  _ ill _ . I find no fault in your journey here.”

“I should have left a note.” It would have been correct, polite, much more like her usual, thoughtful, self. 

The sentiment is enough to tug his lips into a small smile. “I would have appreciated it, certainly. But I managed to find you, despite the circumstances.”

When she continues to wallow in pensive silence, he speaks her name. 

“Winifred, your mother...did you find her quite well?” 

“Yes, she-” Winifred finds speaking the words are more difficult than she anticipates and tries again when the words die upon her lips.

“The illness is upon her, but my mother is a resilient woman.” 

She offers a brave smile, a gentle squeeze that she hopes is reassuring. 

Instead her actions merely cause him to frown, for he can see the truth of it unwavering clarity. 

“Then why is it that you look ready to fall over, dearest?” 

And at his words the tears that she had refused to let herself cry finally spill forth. 

“I am going to lose her, Constantin.  _ My mother _ .” 

She loses the strength in her legs with the uttering of those words but his arms catch her. And in his embrace she finds a shelter from a world that has grown that much more bleak.

Hand pressed to her mouth, to stifle the sobs, she struggles for control, but it wretches itself from her lips before she can stop it. And because she trusts him, because he  _ knows  _ her, she finds the strength to finally let go, crumbling against him as her anguished cries fill the air. 

“ _ Oh gods, why?”  _

He remains silent when she weeps, listens with patience rather than trying to fill the air with useless platitudes. 

His fine shirt is well and truly damp by the time she has quieted, but Constantin bears it no mind. Rather he leads her by the hand to the large chaise and keeps her close, observing the pale pallor of her face and the tears that still silently track down her cheeks with a grim seriousness. 

“When she is gone then I will have no one… I fear I will be quite alone here at court.” 

Her voice sounds hollow, worn down by grief, the aging of her soul. 

“You may be an orphan, but you will  _ never  _ be alone.” Constantin brushes the back of his hand through her loose hair, “I swear it. You may always count on me to be by your side.” 

“You will be Prince one day, with obligations.” She protests, speaking so softly as to be almost silent. 

“Then I should have the power of a Prince as well. I will do as I wish.” 

Constantin presses a kiss to her temple as she sinks against him, and finds the words come more fiercely than he intends. 

“I would give you the  _ world _ , Winifred.” 

XX

Her mother finds them in the library some hours later, curled up together like a pair of puppies. Winifred lies upon Constantin, her head pillowed in the cove of his arm, holding him close even in sleep. Constantin’s hand is low on her back, his breath dancing upon her cheek. 

As children they had often napped in such a manner. The Princess De Sardet felt a sharpness in her chest when she recalled such innocent times, the uncomplicated memories of two children who were the closest of friends.

But as she spied them now, there was no missing the other unmistakable undercurrent. 

Age had brought with it a new awareness for her daughter, her nephew. It was a dynamic she had watched grow with wariness, knowing that the Princess D’Orsay would see the same thing. In the end, both women had acted but only one of them had been successful in her mission. 

The Princess De Sardet had never found her victory to be anything more than the most bitter of elixirs. 

“Mother?”

Her daughter’s eyes flutter open for a moment, still foggy from sleep and exhaustion. Now is not the time for confessions, but her illness has brought many things into focus, and time is of the essence. 

“Before you leave for the estate, I would ask that you speak with me.”

Winifred’s eyelids droop lower as she hovers once more on the edge of sleep, her lips tilting in the smallest of frowns. 

The Princess’ echoes her words just once more, an order rather than a request, or perhaps it is a warning of things to come. But as the young woman fades from consciousness the words follow her into the dark. 

_ There is a secret I have been keeping, daughter.  _

_ It is time you knew.  _

_ The fault is mine.  _

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the tensions continue to rise, and jealousy rears its head.   
Winifred shares some important news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies. Surprise! I'm still writing despite the craziness of real life - slow but steady wins the race, right? 
> 
> Thanks so much for all your continued love and support, I could not do this without all of you. And some of you are insanely accurate with your predictions - which is scary but awesome :) I hope to continue to entertain. There's definitely more where this came from. 
> 
> Goal of this chapter: Character and Plot development. You've been warned! 
> 
> <3 Voi

Constantin arrived back at the estate after a morning ride that filled his lungs with crisp air and his mind with thoughts too numerous to count. He had pushed both himself and his mount hard to try and flee from the discomfort of such riotous musings. They entered the stables sweat streaked and breathing roughly from their exertions but, for Constantin, it seemed clear that he had failed despite his best efforts. Slipping from his saddle, he managed just enough decorum to waive off the stablehand before disappearing into the privacy of Leopold’s paddock. He needed the time, the space. And there, amidst the morning shadows and steady work that was required to groom his pale-haired stallion, Constantin found some small measure of calm. The soft nicker of approval he received at the methodical brushing was an additional pleasure that seemed to soothe the tensions that had followed him so closely since returning from Serene. 

_ Serene _ . 

The city’s very name was a deception, and he shied away from pursuing that thought any further. Instead he sought to enjoy himself in the physicality of his labors, offering a final treat of apples and oats before seeing to it that Leopold would be well pampered for the rest of the day. 

And then, his morning ritual complete, he turned to the estate, climbing the stone steps that led to the grand foyer. 

Shivering slightly now that the sweat had begun to dry, he tried to recall the schedule for the day and was cheered to remember it included both time for music practice as well as dance. The final lesson was to be a review of the foreign voyages in which the Congregation was invested. Such studies were as close to adventuring as he was allowed, and Constantin endured the dry conversations about expedition contracts so that he could later indulge in equally detailed tales of the explorers’ findings. 

Perhaps if he was charming enough he could convince Winifred to join him. At the very least it would mean an afternoon of good company to combat the initial tedium. No sooner had he thought of her name when she appeared before him, dressed for the summer heat, poised and smiling. 

But if he thought to compliment her, the words died upon his lips, for Winifred was not alone.

“Oh, Constantin.” Winifred smiled but it was muted, as it had been since their return, “This is Monsieur Stefan Montemartre, he is the owner of Hawksroost estate, our neighbor from the mountains.” 

Constantin was used to deferential treatment, as the son of the Prince, it had been his due. But the silence between the men now was not one of respect, rather it was confusion. And as he stood before the other man in naught but his riding habit and smelling of stable, Constantin felt what could only be called embarrassment. His father would have remarked that such prickling self-consciousness  _ should  _ have been familiar given how often he brought shame to his lineage but it was not a feeling to which Constantin was accustomed. 

He detested the experience immediately. 

And yet, there was something else that kept him rooted there despite his discomfort. A strange sort of suspicion that refused to allow him to leave in any sort of haste. 

“My apologies! Lord  _ D’Orsay  _ I did not recognize you dressed thusly. Please excuse my lack of manners.” 

“Really, Stefan,” Winifred turned to smile at her guest, “Does he truly look so different? Surely you have seen him at court more recently than I.” 

Constantin had his answer even before the polite lie fell from the other man’s lips. It was there, in the glitter of interest in those dark eyes, the guilty flush on the man’s face. There was no missing the frank appreciation in the other man’s gaze, an interest in his cousin that he did not like. 

The man clearly was taken with his hostess. Constantin found he could simultaneously sympathize and loathe the man for his predicament. And though he might have initially thought to insinuate himself further into their company, he chose instead to depart without another word, leaving Winifred to make his apologies, knowing that his mood would do nothing but darken if he had remained. 

XX

Despite his attempts to assuage his temper, Constantin finds that the day only continues to grow worse with the passing of hours. And for once, Winifred’s presence in his study feels more like a burden than a relief. There is nothing but a twist in his gut, his chest, when she enters his office, brilliant eyes finding him easily by the large alcove window. 

“What is the meaning of this, Winifred?” 

There is an edge to his voice, a tension that he does nothing to disguise. In between them, lay the portraits of three equally exquisite young ladies. Each one is clearly of good breeding and, if their perfectly rendered finery is anything to go by, suitably wealthy and well connected. But it is not the paintings he lifts, rather it is the small card that accompanied this  _ gift _ that has him near howling. 

“Please,” He asks softly, “Explain yourself.” 

“I wish you to be happy.” Her voice was light, but her brow is creased in pain “ I had thought speaking of this now might be appropriate. The Season will be upon us before you know it.” 

He looks at her face and sees the dissonance there, just as he had that night at the townhouse. 

“Winifred.” 

“It is important that you keep your mind open.” She continues, pleasant, patient. But her gloved hands have come to clasp themselves together before her, as if she is anchoring herself for some impending storm. 

Perhaps she expects him to lose his temper. He feels as if he might. Still, he strives for control despite the maelstrom of emotion. 

Exhaling slowly, he focuses on forming each word with precision so there is no mistake. 

“I have no desire to marry any of the women my mother has chosen, even if you have written such kind things about them.” 

He watches as her expression shutters further, and something like fear settled deep in his gut. 

“And what if  _ I  _ had chosen the women?” She asks after a long moment, “What if I could personally vouch for each one?” 

The words were not what he expected, and he finds his anger morphs so quickly into pain that he stands stunned as if having received a mortal blow, his eyes darting down to his chest half expecting to find it flayed open and bloody. 

“Why?” He gasps, desperate for air, for understanding. 

“I will be leaving within the year, there is to be an expedition to a faraway land.” 

Constantin cannot help but feel the sting of rejection at her words, “We have only just united, and you have promised me a Season. Will you truly be done with me after this summer?” 

“I will not stay.” Her words are absolute, her intention firm. 

“Is this my father’s doing?” He presses, unable to make sense of how dramatically the ground seems to have shifted beneath his feet. 

“Something must have happened. Please, help me understand.” He insists, watching helplessly as she withdraws from him. It is both emotional and physical distance, one that grows when she takes several determined steps towards the hall.

She stops just short, her hand lingering on the ornate handle, “I want to make sure you find someone who will love you. Who will truly care for you.”

“But you-”

“Will be gone.” She turns back to him, speaking so softly as to be a whisper. Still, he can hear them well enough in the tense quiet that has descended. 

“I hoped to find you someone whom you might one day learn to love in return.” She confesses. 

“You cannot mean that.” 

He can see the corner of her mouth pull into a slow, sad smile. “I do. Besides, you have done this before, only this time I shall be here to guide you properly.” 

“What do you mean?” 

She pauses and when at last she finds the strength to look at him anew, the expression on her face is one of quiet dignity. Beautiful. Unusual. Unique. 

“You did not wait.” 

And that’s when he sees it, finally, the jagged pieces of her heart that lay broken in her breast. The splintered fragments of what had once been such a precious jewel. 

“Winifred-” 

She shakes her head, closing her eyes, closing her  _ heart.  _

“I leave you to your choice.” 

But he had chosen long ago. Despite his mistakes and the chaotic path it had led him, there had only ever been one. And he knew that what he wished for would not be found there in the portraits provided.

His heart remained in  _ her _ keeping even now. 

XX

He finds her working diligently in the library much later in the evening. He is worn out and brought low by the afternoon’s conversation. But still he seeks her out, noting the slow decline of the sun in the sky. 

Her words continue to haunt him, the sorrow of them, the hurt. Constantin is not quite sure what to make of such a revelation, not when his actions were the result of his own heartache. Instead he forces himself to focus on the present, on the moment he has with her now. 

“Constantin?” 

Trying for a smile, but not quite able to muster his usual enthusiasm, he points to the fading light that has cast the grounds in burnished gold. 

“We have yet to go for our evening turn about the garden.” 

The pause that follows is long, made heavy with unspoken emotion. In the end, Winifred manages to find her feet but seems to sway with the effort. 

“I am not sure I have the strength for it this evening.” She admits, unable to meet his eyes. 

It is not a rejection. 

“Neither am I.” Constantin responds in kind, hesitating, “But you showed me the value of keeping my word, of doing my lessons despite my reservations. I am endeavoring to do the same now, with the promise I made to you about our evening walks.”

His words bring the faintest sparkle to Winifred’s eyes.

“I cannot argue with such logic.” She says at last, slowly crossing the room to take his offered arm. 

“Let us take our turn about the garden.” 

And though it is not a perfect evening, in the end, it is a hopeful one. 

  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the past is laid bare and a heart is broken anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright my darlings, strap in and get ready for a lot of angst here. This is actually the chapter I've been wanting to write since that little plot twist in Chapter 07. A lot of you were interested in knowing more - and I wanted to make sure I got it right for a variety of reasons. 
> 
> Chapter 09 deals with what was actually said between De Sardet and her mother in Serene and it's a tough one. 
> 
> Winifred is such a buttoned up character that I wanted her to finally have a space where she could finally lay her cards on the table in a way we have not really seen from her up to this point. 
> 
> I promise things will go where we want them, but for now, we've got to hold on for the ride. 
> 
> You all are the best - I would not be doing this without your kind words, kudos and encouragement. I hope you enjoy <3

Summer had returned to the estate in all her golden glory. Sweet breezes scented with lavender fields, glowing mornings were spent eating delicate foodstuffs that tasted of childhood, and what rain did fall was the gentlest of showers, lingering just long enough to water the flowers before disappearing. 

It should have been a time of comfort and restfulness, of hopefulness. 

For Winifred, the opposite seemed to be true in every way. But with so much expected of her, it was easy enough to return to the work, to focus on the _ tasks _and ignore the rest. Long evenings were spent in meticulous study, days were spent managing the household. In the end, it was Blanche who mentioned it one morning during their usual routine. 

Hands busy with all manner of pins and heating implements, Blanche’s question was ripe with concern. “Your mother still lives, there is hope for a cure, is there not? Must you push yourself so harshly?” 

“This has nothing to do with my mother’s health, Blanche. Though I am heartened by your words.” 

The words were not what her friend was expecting, and there was a pause as confusion filled the silence. 

“Forgive me, my lady, but you are busy at all hours, and even your usual afternoon respites have been ignored. For what other reason could there be?”

The smile on Winifred’s face was as apologetic as it was enigmatic. She revealed nothing.

“Will you please let me know if mother sends me a letter? I am expecting correspondence.” 

~ Serene, Before ~ 

The silence was deafening. 

Winifred had wondered if she had dreamed the words, but looking at the guilt written across her mother’s tired face it seemed she had not. There was a gravitas here that made her pause, and so she took a seat, waiting, though she did not know for what. 

“The year of silence. The letter that was never answered. That fault lies with me.”

The truth felt like the blow of a great hammer, forcing the air from her lungs, making her ears ring until the world seemed to swim drunkenly in front of her eyes in muffled confusion. There was no need to clarify which letter her mother was speaking about. 

The words had been tender, achingly personal. 

That her mother knew of them, spoke of it now made her stomach twist in a way that bordered on illness. She had seen them, had read their contents well enough to speak of it in detail. 

“You cannot mean that.” Winifred’s first instinct was to shy away, to deny the bold statement that fell from her mother’s lips.

“The Prince and I spoke and a decision was made.” 

“I do not understand.” Winifred's voice trembled, “_Please _.”

“We had been aware of the letters between yourself and Constantin for some time. In the beginning they were innocent things, and so we did nothing. But as you both grew older, the tone changed.” 

“My brother does not think highly of his son. You know this. The contents of Constantin’s final letter would have meant his disinheritance.” 

Because the implication was unmistakable, unthinkable, Winifred shook her head as denial rose anew, on the heels of what felt like fresh heartache. 

“_ No _ . Mother, please... _ you didn’t. _” 

“I never showed the Prince.” 

There was something in her mother’s response, the knowing look in her eyes that made Winifred’s skin chill. They both knew who wielded the power behind the throne, the one who would have done anything to prevent her son from losing his position. 

_ Princess D’Orsay. _

“She read the letters.” Winifred spoke the words in hushed horror, “She read _ his _letter.” 

He had been on the cusp of manhood, with the desires to match. His letter had been bold and so passionate that even now the memory of it made her heart thunder wildly in her chest. It had been meant for her eyes alone. 

“Yes.” Her mother’s expression was grave, tight with an emotion Winifred had never seen before. Perhaps it was regret? 

“ I left it for her to find. I trusted she would do anything to protect her son from ruin. I made sure _ your _letter never reached its destination.” 

Winifred’s eyes filled, “It _ is _your fault.” 

The betrayal seared her breast, and on its heels, an anger which was so very ugly that she could barely speak. And this time she could not control the tears that fell.

“You knew. You _ knew _I cared for him, and you watched her tear everything apart.” 

“Winifred, I am asking you to think of this sensibly. Tell me - even if your letter had been delivered_, _what would you have expected?” 

The Princess De Sardet looked at her daughter with the patience of only the very wise, “Even if he had received your letter...even if he knew you cared for him. _ What would you have done? _ What _ could either _of you have done?”

Winifred remained silent, the tears dripping steadily down her cheeks. 

“You are cousins, related too closely by blood to marry or have children. There is no path that you may walk together, my dearest daughter. There is no hope there.”

At her daughter’s stricken silence, the Princess De Sardet sighed. 

“I know I may seem heartless. But perhaps I need only point out one detail for you to understand...Constantin is a young man with a young man’s attentions. Do you know what he did when your letter did not arrive?”

It was a rhetorical question, because Winifred did know, could recall the shock and hurt of the revelation even now. 

“He found a lover...” Her voice dulled with pain, with the remembered hurt. 

“Yes, and not just one. He had several in quick succession.” 

“His mother-” Winifred protested. 

“She did not force him into their beds, did not build his reputation at court.” 

“Then if all this is true, what of this summer?” Winifred asked roughly, “Why unite us, if this relationship was the reason for our separation?”

Her mother’s hands twisted together, and the expression returned. 

“I knew my mistake when I visited you in Theleme for your birthday and found you so changed by your experience. I barely recognized you. I realized then, the damage we had done. The damage _ I _had done.” 

She paused for only a moment before continuing uneasily, “On his journey to the estate, I learned just how dramatically it had affected Constantin.”

Remembering the evening she had ridden from the estate to find him so grievously injured, Winifred felt a chill up her spine.

“What do you mean?” 

“His mother tried to maneuver him a final time, just before his arrival. When she did, he cast himself out of their carriage, threw himself down that ravine to get away from her.” 

Winifred jerked out of her seat, “He _ what_?!” 

“This was not the first time he had attempted such things. It would seem he has become increasingly fragile in the years you have been apart.”

Winifred remained silent, too horrified to speak. 

“His mother thought she might lose him. And it seems that, for once, my brother fears the same, though he does not know the full reason why.” 

“Why tell me this now?" Winfred wondered aloud, "Is it because you’ve fallen ill?”

“Perhaps. Facing down the end of life has a habit of changing people, or perhaps revealing the truly important things.” 

“So what now?” Winifred asked, “What am I to do with this information?” 

  
  


“Constantin needs someone who puts his needs first. Someone suitable, who loves him enough to guide him to safe harbor so that when he becomes Prince, the future of the Congregation will be assured.” 

When the silence dragged on, Winifred felt her heart clench in her breast. 

“No.” It was a whisper that spoke with all the power of thunder in a storm. 

“You have always been strong, done your duty.” 

“This is what you ask of me now? After this betrayal...you wish me to _do my duty_?” Winifred staggered away, reaching out blindly to steady herself.

“I am asking you to save the man you love from self destruction. Right our wrong, undo our mistake.” 

“I _ love him, _mother.” Winifred sagged under the weight of the admission, “You are asking me to cut out my own heart.” 

“I know.” The words were uttered in desolate sorrow, “But you are my daughter, and this will not be the end of things.” 

“Will it not?” She asked with a watery laugh. 

“You are more than just a woman in love. You are a sharp negotiator, a thoughtful diplomat, and an avid student of all manner of lessons. You are meant for more than this.” 

Then silence fell once more, growing with each pained breath until Winifred finally quieted and slowly, so slowly, straightened. 

Her face was once more a smooth mask, composed, save for the dullness of her eyes. 

“Very well. Then it shall be as you asked.” Her voice was bland, her words were clear, “But I will need something in exchange.” 

“Name your terms.” 

“Father Petrus left with a delegation some months ago to seek out a cure for the Malichor. I will wish to join him when the Season concludes.” 

“Winifred.”

“I cannot remain here any longer, I dare not tempt fate in that way. I care for Constantin more than common sense should allow.” 

A final tear spilled from her eye, slipped past her mask, to streak its way down her cheek. 

“I will find a suitable match. By the end of the Season you shall receive your desired outcome.” 

And without another word she left, too heartbroken to even say goodbye. 

  
  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stakes continue to rise.   
Winifred continues to carry the burden in silence.   
Constantin looks for an explanation in music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Hope everyone is staying safe out there! I finally got this one wrapped up in a place where I was happy with it. As you know, I got a bit ahead with chapter planning but I keep changing my mind about how much more time I want to spend on the continent, when we ALL know that things will start heating up once we get island-side. 
> 
> Ahaha I suppose 10 chapters of slow burn is starting to get to me ;) 
> 
> I always look forward to hearing from you - and would love to get your pov's on this! Are you guys wanting to get more chapters about the Season and all of that? Or should I hurry up and get to everyone's favorite island? 
> 
> Thanks again for everything, you know I could not do this without the support and love I get here on the site!
> 
> Best wishes - Voi
> 
> Oh! And before I forget - Constantin plays a song in this chapter. If you would like to hear the piece that inspired it (because it took me FOREVER to find one that I thought fit) please have a listen to: Three for a Girl by Ian Wong. Enjoy!

“My lady, will you not eat?” Blanche very gently nudged the saucer with a finger, frowning at its lukewarm contents and the tea tray that looked similarly untouched. 

Winifred looked up from a sheaf of papers in surprise, pausing just long enough to glance at the small clock in the room before turning to her companion with an apologetic grimace.

“You will make yourself ill if you continue in this way, Winifred.” The words were spoken with well intentioned censure, and Winifred could see Blanche’s brow crease in concern. This was not the first time she had caused her friend such grief. 

“I will endeavor to do better at least at meal time.” The noblewoman promised, “I know I can be quite stubborn when I am of a particular mind, you have my sincerest apologies.”

“I am not seeking apologies, my lady.” Looking rightfully exasperated, the other woman propped the tray against her hip, “ I just wish you would treat yourself as kindly as you treat those of us in your household. You look as if you might be on the cusp of illness.” 

Winifred could not argue otherwise, she had seen it for herself in the mirror that morning. There were deep shadows upon her face and a sharper edge to her features, the result of too many late hours and not enough food or sleep. Even her body ached at the pace she had set upon with such single minded intensity. 

Instead of admitting just how tired she was, Winifred said only, “You know my role as chaperone is one I take quite seriously.” 

Blanche lingered at her lady’s desk, “Would you prefer that I remain here rather for a few days more?”

“Of course not.” 

The response was immediate, decisive in a way that was both firm but coming from a place of deep friendship and trust. The noblewoman waved off the concern with an elegant flick of her wrist.

“You and Kurt have been putting up with my nonsense for long enough. You  _ must _ visit the coast on holiday, I insist.” 

“If you are quite sure, my lady.” Curtsying low, the woman began to back out of the office as her mistress returned to work. 

“Blanche?” Winifred’s expression morphed into one of warmth, an expression that had become so very rare in the last several weeks. 

“Yes, Winifred?” 

“The water should be beautiful this time of year, tell Kurt he may take  _ Joie de Vivre _ out to sea. You two  _ must _ go sailing.” 

Blanche grinned, “I shall not let him forget!” 

XX 

Constantin closed the coach door and smiled at the two women who had been his guests for the better part of the day. 

Lady Amelia Mulvain, eldest daughter of an indulgent father and an accomplished horsewoman, both her intellect and manners had been exemplary. Despite his initial hesitance he had found himself charmed by her wit, and perhaps even intrigued by the look in her eye whenever her aunt, the formidable Roberta Mulvain, turned her back. 

But intrigued was not in love, and he was smart enough now to know the difference. 

Watching their forms disappear as the coach turned the bend, Constantin waited only as long as decorum dictated before fleeing back inside, through the grand foyer to seek the refuge of the private study and the piano forte. 

Alone at last. 

The first few notes were an exhale after what felt like hours of holding his breath, a chance to slow down and begin to untangle the thoughts in his mind. 

His fingers moved slowly at first, easing across the keys as he wove a melody into the air, echoing with the wealth of his confusion. What followed was the expression of hundreds of other emotions, let loose like butterflies in the gardens around him. 

Each one unique, he chased them down with the sort of frenzied focus that he found only at the altar of music. Like taking a path through deep wood, it was a winding journey, with peaks and valleys, made rich with the dappled glow of a summer afternoon. 

And yet...there was one constant. 

As if he stood at the edge of a great field, he saw in his mind's eye the answer framed in sunlight and hope and possibility. His fingers flew across the keys to follow her, the one who would forever remind him of those summers spent in such joyful abandon. Her name was on his lips, but he was lost to the music, and the only sounds come from the instrument beneath his hands. 

It was only when the softest of breezes carried the scent of lavender into the room that he realized he was no longer alone.

“Constantin.” She spoke his name with as much tenderness as a kiss. 

Smiling in greeting, he shifted in his seat so that she might join him, enjoying the elegant economy of motion that brought her to his side. 

“My dear cousin, have I wooed you away from business with my music?” Teasing, he slowed his playing so that there was only the gentlest of melodies to tickle the air between them. 

“It is a near thing.” Pink cheeked, Winifred coughed lightly into a handkerchief before tucking her wrap more securely around her shoulders. 

Lapsing into only a momentary silence, the question fell from her lips a short while later. “I had actually hoped to get your thoughts on Lady Mulvain. Did you enjoy her company?” 

He did not know what to say to that, not at all. 

Striving to maintain his good humor Constantin forced a smile upon his lips, “Perhaps we can speak of it this evening? I fear I need more time to gather my thoughts.” 

“Of course.” Her expression was gentle, and just as sad as his own, “I would not ask you to provide any sort of determination in haste. You may have the time you need.” 

And though he sensed that she had no other reason to remain, she did not immediately leave as had become her custom. Instead she remained where she was, eyes taking in the exquisite grain of the pianoforte, the intricate engravings upon the keys. 

Lingering. 

Her perusal of the instrument complete, her eyes turned towards him, pinning him with such intensity that he wondered if she had heard the breath catch in his throat. 

“Would you like me to play something for you?” He spoke softly, half afraid to break the spell that seemed to have settled over them both. 

“Please.” 

There was a wealth of emotion in that single word, a vulnerability he saw so laid bare. His hands knew what to play even before he did. 

Slow, patient, the song unfurled with the sort of unhurried beauty of a flower, one that had spent the seasons beneath the snow waiting with quiet dignity. A wish, a written promise, he played a song that he had played so many times before. 

In the golden light of summers.

In the loneliness of autumn and the chill of winter. 

In the springtimes that seemed to stretch for an eternity. 

Counting down the days until he might be reunited with his heart’s wish, his lucky star. 

And when at last the song was finished, the silence returned with a velvety richness that settled across them both. He could not help the way he turned to look at her, knew there was no hiding the emotion in his eyes. She would know it if she but looked. 

“That was lovely.” Her gaze drifted across the keys, across the elegant lines of his hands, her voice was soft as gossamer, “Beautiful and a little sad.” 

He watched as her eyes lifted, as her deep gaze found his own. 

_ Did she not see it? _

“It sounded familiar.” Her words were at once an accusation and a question. 

“Yes.” 

His heart was too full for words, and he dared not say more for fear that then all the truths would spill out of him, a fount of unending confessions. He might have been reckless in that way, once. But time, time with  _ her,  _ had taught him the value of action over words.

The ability to do something because it mattered. 

To be responsible with one's actions, with one's  _ feelings. _

The clock struck the top of the hour, and with it a reminder that he had his lessons to go to. 

Slowly rising so that he might go and get ready, he paused, offering his arm so that he might escort her out. 

“Shall I see you this evening for our walk?” She asked when they existed to the grand foyer. 

He nodded wordlessly and left. 

XX

Kurt had put him through his paces. Working through both swordplay and pistols, Constantin’s arms and back were still warm from his exertions long after the lesson had ended. Dirty and difficult though it had been, as he walked through the halls of the estate, he realized he had started to look forward to the work as well. It was satisfying to gain mastery over such skills, to gain additional awareness of not just himself but also his surroundings. 

Constantin had not missed the fact that the lesson this evening had been shorter than usual. 

Perhaps Kurt meant to woo his lady love with a special dinner? 

The thought was enough to tug the prince’s lips into a boyish grin. As he lived and breathed, he still could not quite believe that his teacher, the gruff master of arms, was now the sort of man who raced off for clandestine meetings with a lover. 

It spoke to the power of deep affection, of what Constantin imagined could only be love. 

He knew he had never witnessed such an emotion pass between his father and mother. His only example had been his Aunt, the Lady De Sardet, whom he had once caught in a tender exchange with her maid. 

It had been such a small thing, a shared look, the touch of one gloved hand upon the other, the brush of fingertips. But that’s all it had taken. He had known.  _ That  _ was what loved looked like. 

Pure. Simple. 

It did not manipulate or try to twist people into shapes to suit scheming. It did not ask for an exchange of goods, nor gold, nor sexual favors. 

Compared to the passions described in books, or seen at court, love was as strong as it was subtle. And Constantin had never found it for himself, not in all the beds he had ever visited nor lovers he had taken. 

He was not surprised, how could he be? 

The promise of it, real love, had always lingered here at the villa.

With her. 

Knocking on the door to her study, Constantin paused long enough for her to acknowledge his presence before entering. 

Coughing lightly as she looked up again from her work, she paused to glance at the clock. If she had any confusion about the hour she did not remark upon it, rather, she rose from her desk seemingly ready to leave. 

But she managed not more than half a dozen steps before she stumbled, going quite pale as she lost her balance. He caught her before she collided with the nearby chaise, settling them both upon it instead. 

“Winifred.” 

She straightened slightly, slowly, managing a weak smile. “Forgive me, Constantin, I seem to need a moment. I am suddenly taken with dizziness.” 

And indeed she swayed where she sat, even as one of his arms remained around her. 

Constantin brushed her forehead with the back of his hand, and while it was not so very fierce, he did feel a slight heat to her skin. 

_ Illness _ ? He was unable to stop the icy twist in his gut,  _ Malichor? _

Glancing around, he frowned, “I should send for Blanche, or perhaps the doctor, just to be safe.” 

“I am not ill, merely in need of a full meal and proper night of rest.” Her expression was lost to him, but the delicate shake of her head was not. “As for Blanche, I’ve sent the majority of the staff away on holiday.” 

It explained Kurt’s sudden departure that evening. But the sudden acknowledgement of their privacy did nothing to assuage his earlier concerns. 

“Are you quite certain?” He wondered aloud. 

“I have studied healing magic these many years, I am  _ quite  _ certain. Besides, have you ever known me to take such risks with my wellbeing?” She asked archly.

“Not unless you were doing so on my behalf.” 

There was a moment of guilty silence, before Winifred attempted to raise herself to standing. 

“You will tell me if you continue to feel unwell?” He does not move other than to secure her firmly so that she will not fall again. 

“I promise, Constantin. Now let us go, I feel as if I wish to go to the garden. The greenery gives me strength.” 

“Have I spoiled you with picnics?” Trying for levity amidst concern, he managed to win a small smile with his teasing. 

She leaned her head against his shoulder when at last he stood,and sighed. “Always.” 

“Very well, then I will do as you command.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A most important discussion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies. I know things have been tough recently, so I hope this small slice of fiction brings a bit of brightness to what can sometimes feel like a very complicated cloud of grey. 
> 
> This chapter did not go at all like I expected, and all the planning I had here actually ended up going out the window because the characters wanted to do something VERY different. I think it made one significant change that I think will pay off in the long run, but do beware - angst and feels abound! 
> 
> I have some more thoughts about it that I'll share after you've had a read :) 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who continues to be patient (!!!) and supportive. It's so wonderful to have you all with me - I could not do this without you! 
> 
> Much Love,  
~Voi

Constantin wakes to find the world is still asleep. 

It is not unusual for him to be an early riser, but when he returns from his morning ride to find the villa as tranquil as he had left it, he realizes how very unique the situation is. Given such freedom he might have once ventured out on a grand adventure, eager to run away from the confines of court. 

Instead he finds himself at the piano forte, and then in the kitchen, entering Winifred’s room just before noon, a tea tray balanced in one hand and an assortment of foodstuffs in the other. 

His cousin is waiting for him. Wrapped in a thick shawl and curled up in her small settee, a sleepy smile touches the corner of her lips as she eyes the selections and the pot beneath its tea cozy. 

Settling beside her, he grins when she passes him the first of the cucumber sandwiches before turning to her own choice of scone. 

Perhaps today would be a good day, one that would allow them both to escape the pressures of the Season. She looked much improved from the evening before, and he felt refreshed from his own morning exercises. At least for the moment, the weight of responsibility remained a distant concern. 

“Did you have a nice morning?” He asks after she has finished her first bite.

Winifred’s smile glows, “Indeed. I slept late and then began to read the new novel by Madame Rouen, it was lovely. How was your outing with Leopold?” 

“Wonderful. He is a brilliant beast, I shall have no other after him.” 

Eyes dancing, Winifred pauses to sip her tea, “It is good that he respects you now. In your letters it always sounded as if the two of you were locked in a battle of wills.” 

“And so we were!” Gesturing grandly with yet another cucumber sandwich, Constantin tried to illustrate the beginnings of the relationship that had once been much more like a rivalry than a friendship. And though the story was not a quick one, neither he nor Winifred seemed to mind the passing of the hours nor the slow cooling of the tea. 

Indeed, his cousin was so engrossed in his tale that it was only when he leaned forward, touching the corner of his linen napkin to her lips that she realized anything was amis. 

“You have a bit of marmalade there.” Murmuring, he nudged the crisp fabric so that it might brush the rosy curve of her mouth and capture the offending smudge. And though his voice is clear in the quiet of the room, the shy flush of his cheeks and sudden loss of eye contact plunge them both into turmoil. 

Frozen in her seat, Winifred manages only a hushed whisper of thanks as her own modesty asserts itself. And so it lingers, this moment, caught in the golden light of day that turns to amber stone, one in which the memory will forever remain trapped. 

Hand reaching up to touch his own, Winifred’s fingers have only just brushed his palm when Constantin a glint of gold catches his attention. 

Gone are her usual gloves, relegated to some distant drawer. Instead there is just the warmth of her skin against his own and now, as he looks more closely, the surprise of this ring. 

His dear cousin had always adored fine things, jewelry most of all, but there was something arrestingly familiar about the circlet she wore on her thumb. It is not until he catches her hand in his own that he realizes why. 

The pattern is familiar, a crown of lavender, as regal as a crown. 

It is just as he remembers it, just as he had designed. 

He had wanted to remind her of this place, to remind her of _ him _. 

The shock of it’s appearance grips him with such fierceness that he cannot stop how his hands tremble.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asks, so confused that he feels as if he is watching the scene unfold from a distance, as if he were a stranger in his own body. 

“Winifred.” His voice catches in his throat, “Dearest, that’s my ring.” 

Her lips part for only the briefest of moments and he watches as she wavers, as a thousand words live and die without her expressing them.

And when at last she has found what she seeks, she finally speaks, so softly and slowly that he has to lean closer still. 

“You wrote to me once, those many months ago. This was enclosed.” 

“Yes.” He nodded helplessly, “I thought you had not received it.” 

Her eyes closed briefly, and he watches as pain blooms upon her features until he cannot help but reach for her, to gently brush her cheek. 

But he does not expect her to move, and his heart stutters in his chest when she presses a tender kiss to _ his _fingers.

“I placed it on my finger the night I received your letter.” Her confession is a hushed whisper, a secret broken free at last, “Despite all that transpired afterwards, I never found the strength to remove it.” 

He cannot make sense of it, the trembling hand that bears his mark, that had _ always _carried it. 

“Why did you never write back?” He wonders. 

“The letter, it was the sort a man writes to a woman, one he holds in highest affection.” 

Remembering his own words, Constantin nodded slowly, “And so it was.” 

He can see the shimmer of tears in her eyes as she shakes her head, “You were young, more a boy than a man.” 

“I was old enough to know my mind.” There is no trace of his usual good humor, for the subject is too serious and he cares too deeply to dare compromise it with jokes. 

“Not quite.” Her smile is tender before she sighs, glancing down to brush the ring, “But I was willing to wait.” 

“You never said-” Constantin protests.

“I did. But the letter never reached you. I recently discovered that it was...intercepted.” 

There’s a beat of stunned silence, and then she sees it, watches his features darken in a rare expression of anger. 

“Who would dare-” But even as the words tumble from his lips, he can read the answer in her eyes, the dark cloud that had followed them both from Serene. 

“My mother...and yours.” 

The betrayal of his most beloved aunt is worse than the acknowledgement of his own mother’s role, but with it comes understanding of Winifred’s pain even if it is a mere echo. They had always had the closest of familial bonds, and Constantin cannot imagine the cost to either woman of such treason. 

But before he can say anything, to reassure her, Winifred speaks again. 

“This can change nothing, Constantin.” 

And he knows that she is speaking then of their circumstances, of their position here at the precipice of the Season.

“How can it not?” He demands, “My feelings for you are unchanged. I _love you _, Winifred, most ardently.” 

“I-” Her voice catches, and her next words are rife with pain, “It is not correct.” 

His face crumbles. 

He has not been so blind to miss the warmth they have shared, the tenderness that she has always expressed so carefully. That she wears his ring even now speaks to such depths that he cannot fathom. But to think that she can so readily set it aside, when he has felt tethered to his sentiment like a marionette, is unthinkable. 

“Does your sense of duty truly hold you so captive?” 

“What do you wish me to say?” She asks raggedly, twisting her hands around each other until her knuckles have gone pale. 

“The _ truth _.” Constantin looks as devastated as she feels, “For all your so-called affection, you still cannot overcome the hold they have on you. Is propriety so very important that you cannot find it in yourself to follow your heart?”

“What use is there in knowing such things?” She asks, so close to sorrow that she feels as if she might choke on her words. 

He looks at her then with heartbreak in his eyes, such frank affection that she feels the sting of tears and for the first time, a tear wells in her eye. 

“The _truth_ _matters_.” His hands close around her shoulders, warm and comforting. 

Her heart aches as she shakes her head, “Sometimes even that is not enough.”

He withdraws his touch, “Then perhaps we should do what the Congregation would ask of us. Let us barter and trade..” 

“Trade?” She cannot be sure she has understood him. 

He looks at her gravely, “My offer is this: I will choose the path of duty, the path _ you _have asked me to tread...but only if you tell me truly what it is you feel.” 

“I-” Winifred recoils, shaking her head.

“I will review and accept a bid for my hand at the end of the Season.” His voice is cold, distant, as if he were speaking to some stranger and not her. “Is this not a fair and just agreement?” 

She closes her eyes, tears stream down her cheeks. 

“Yes.” 

“Then tell me the truth.” 

She laughs then, a strange sound without humor but rife with despair and heartache. In the end, she speaks the words plainly, without flourish. 

“ I _ love you, _ Constantin D’Orsay. No matter how improper or wrong, my _ heart _holds you above all else.” 

There is joy and agony then, served in equal measure. 

The silence swallows it all. 

“And yet your wish is the same?” Constantin asks, “For me to select a lady to be my wife... this is what you want for us? For me?” 

“No. But it is what must be done.” 

The words lance him, impaling what remains of his heart so that finally, _ finally _the agony is over and all that remains is the stark chill of duty. 

It is, he realizes, a burden that has been her constant companion for many years. She had always borne it with such grace, he had not realized how cripplingly heavy or lonely it might be. Now he knew. 

“I shall keep my promise. You delivered to me the truth, I shall do my duty.” 

He straightens slowly, painfully, bowing formally over their tea tray before turning to go. 

But just before he leaves, he finds that final spark, the joy that was almost lost amidst the crushing weight of what had to be done. 

And so he turns. 

She watches him, beautiful and poised now, the words remain_ . _

_ I love you _. 

“I suspect I always will.” He says without needing to explain. 

Her lips curve into a trembling smile as she touches the ring on her hand, “As do I.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I know that was a lot - but the biggest thing I wanted to accomplish in this chapter is that, from here on out, the choice to be together with Constantin is going to rest entirely on Winifred's shoulders. 
> 
> In a world where we all know Constantin would have gone 'I dare say - Fuck It' and rode off into the sunset, I wanted Winifred to have growth so that by the time we get to the island, she is recognisably the strong woman we know her to be. 
> 
> I need her to own the decision to be with Constantin (when that happens), with ALL of its complications, so that when she needs to face down the greater challenges down the road, we know why she makes these choices. 
> 
> That's all - thanks for coming to my TED talk ;)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Season has begun.   
Winifred wonders at the unsaid.   
The Prince enters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: So...surprise? 
> 
> Despite me trying my darnest to get our favorite couple to the island in a chapter (or two), there was a sudden explosion of plot and now I am once again at a loss. I'm actually pretty excited with the new material, and do think it ties in quite solidly into future plans, but we will indeed be in Serene for just a bit longer. 
> 
> That being said...it's time for the SEASON (kinda)! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy - you all make me smile and amidst all ongoing world events, I cannot tell you how wonderful that is. 
> 
> All my love <3 Voi

As a child Winifred had never wondered about the marking on her face, indeed she had not been aware of its existence. Her mother had never remarked on it, and her other companions, the servants, were above mentioning such things. 

The mirror was an imperfect echo, she knew as much because her mother looked so very different in its shimmering surface. So it was not until she met Constantin that she realized the green edge of her jaw was more than a bit of odd reflection. 

He had been barely two years old, and so curious as she had held him close. Little starfish hands had touched the same spot on her face over and over again, his eyes huge and unblinking as he looked at her with awe. 

When he was a bit older, he had asked if she might sprout a flower on that emerald edging, starflowers preferably. The small white blossoms grew wild in the palace courtyard, their delicate perfume filling the air more readily than any cultivated breed of flower. When she had explained that she was not sure if she was capable of such things he asked if his own mark, a small heart-shaped birthmark in the shadow of his jaw, might grow one instead. 

Time had shown them that neither was capable of such feats, but the question of her mark had always remained. Looking at it now, Winifred found that for the first time, the lack of answer left her dissatisfied. 

“Have you ever seen its likeness in another?” Winifred asked one morning as Blanche prepared her for yet another day of Season festivities. 

“No. But then, you are a unique woman in all things.” Blanche glanced over the top of her lady’s head, as she worked, “It’s not like you to remark on your appearance.” 

Winifred smiled, “It is true, I have never thought it particularly important. But now I wonder if there are countless other details of my life that I have taken for granted.” 

“You are speaking of more than your birthmark.” 

“I suppose I am.” 

Blanche set down her brush, moving so that she might face her friend more fully. 

“What happened when I was away on holiday, my lady?” Hands reached out to clasp hands, “I have ever been your friend. You have shared your plans for travel, and now I wish to know the truth.” 

“The truth?” The words were too similar, the sentiment still so fresh that Winifred jerked. “Why do people think that learning the truth changes anything?” 

“Because it can, it _should_, if you choose to act on it.” Her friend said stubbornly. 

“My duty-”

“Has been a cold mistress.” Blanche pointed out, “I’ve not seen you truly smile in months.” 

When Winifred remained silent, her friend gave her a tender squeeze. 

And then, slowly but steadily Winfired began to speak, to explain all that had transpired, not just while her friend was away but of all the events since they had last been in Serene. The story was not an easy one, and she paused several times to maintain a composure that had been so very hard to maintain. She spoke of her mother’s revelations, and the steps she had taken to find Constantin a match, she stumbled clumsily over her feelings and the heart wrenching conversation that had all but cost her the companionship of her dearest cousin. 

“Might I tell a story of my own?” Blanche asked when all was said and Winifred had lapsed into a pained silence.“The story is not too dissimilar to your own.”

“Please.” Winifred smiled faintly. 

“There was another woman of respectable birth, not as high as your own, but one born to a family of cloth merchants in a city not far from here. She was dutiful and smart, and when she was old enough, she was sent far away to marry a man with whom her father wished to do business. 

Winifred leaned forward, her face creased in concern, “She was forced to marry?” 

“Yes. And it was a miserable affair, for they both made each other unhappy. He preferred his books and the discussion of land management, and she found little joy in caring for a large household. The burden seemed to grow every year, as did the loneliness.”

“They could find no middle ground?”

“No. It was not a cruel marriage, but neither was it a happy one. That is, until the young woman met a man quite unlike her husband. He was rough and unpolished, but he made her laugh with bawdy jokes and listened to her while she spoke. He treated her like a woman, not a  _ lady _ , and she had never quite met anyone else like him. In time they became friends, and with even more time they came to care about each other very deeply indeed.” 

Blanche smiled sadly, “But she was bound by her duty to her husband. And though she wished to be with him it would not have been right. She dared not ask for a divorce either, for doing so would be to abandon everything she knew. And so it was that when her dear friend was called away, for he was a soldier, they parted as decorum dictated.” 

“It was the right thing to do. The  _ correct  _ thing. But every day that he was gone to that battlefield, she worried, unable to eat and sleep, imagining fates each one worse than the last. Months passed this way.” 

“One day, she received a letter: he had been grievously injured. Though she was desperate to be with her soldier, to visit him at the city ward, her circumstances were unchanged. Duty bound her to her husband’s home. And so she stayed where she was.” 

“She received another letter two days later. Her soldier had passed away.” 

A tear streaked down Blanche’s cheek, “I cannot begin to describe the depth of her sorrow. The nights that seemed to last forever and the days that marched on without a sunrise. Perhaps part of her had died too.”

“It was only when her husband was summoned to the city on the request of one of  _ his  _ friends, that she, finally, found herself there.” 

“Did she visit the ward?” 

“Yes. Imagine her surprise when she arrived there to find her young man alive. It would seem there had been a horrible mistake, or perhaps a lucky accident, and they had wrongly identified the man who had died.” 

“It was a miracle of sorts. A second chance. A revelation.” Blanche looked her mistress in the eye, “She returned to her husband that very day to demand a divorce.” 

“And it was granted?” Winifred asked, concern lining her face. 

Blanche shook her head, “Not without stipulation. Her husband demanded that her dowry remain with him.”

“She would have had no money then. He would have left her destitute.” 

“Yes. But by that point, she would have gladly paid any price.” Blanche grinned, “She agreed, and her husband handled their affairs shortly after.” 

And that was when the final pieces fell into place. 

“You and Kurt...have lived happily ever since?” Winifred asked, feeling a tightness in her throat and a sting to her eyes. 

“Yes. It may be a more modest life, but it is one we share as equals.”

Blanche leaned back with a small sigh, “I wished to tell my story now because I know what it is to have held onto duty for too long. There comes a moment, a  _ time _ , when the cost is too high. I would never wish, even upon my worst enemy, the pain that came with believing Kurt was lost to me forever. There are no words for the desolation of those days, the guilt and pain of loss.” 

Blanche touched her friend’s thumb where the ring glittered, “If Constantin is the man you care for, then  _ do something  _ about it. The price may be high, it might be  _ everything you know _ , but if he is your heart’s true desire then perhaps you will find that the cost is worth paying. I know I did.” 

There was a knock on the door a moment later and Winifred was passed a neat white envelope that bore the five coin seal of the Congregation. 

Blanche’s advice would need to be considered later. 

This request could not be ignored. 

The Prince needed to speak to her. 

XX

“You summoned me, Uncle?” 

Winifred entered the large study with the sort of easy familiarity that the Prince appreciated. Unlike his other courtiers who seemed to forever be cowering before him, there was no missing his niece’s upright posture, her steadfast gaze that revealed a complete lack of intimidation at his own presence. 

Though she might be a woman, she was unlike the majority of her sex and there was a fierceness beneath her placid disposition. Aurelien has always suspected she would be strong given the truth of her parentage, but even he could not have anticipated how easily she had fit herself into her adopted homeland, how gracefully she upheld the standards that even those in the upper echelons of the Congregation struggled to shoulder. 

Not for the first time Aurelien wished that his eldest son yet lived. Together, Winifred and Balthasar would have made a formidable power, one he could have entrusted with the future of the Congregation. Winifred had been a compliment to Balthasar’s strength of character. 

Now all that remained of his legacy was a pale haired dreamer who cared more for the whims of his next lover than the needs of the empire. Constantin was as beautiful as his mother, but with none of her cunning. Aurelien could never quite decide if that was a blessing or a curse. Winifred had shown equal warmth to his younger son, perhaps even preference, if the rumors were to be believed. But he had never quite warmed to the thought of joining his brilliant niece to his Spare, and so he had set about looking for another who might make her a favorable companion. He had yet to find one, but that had not prevented him from making one particularly crucial decision. 

His wife might believe her scheming on behalf of her son had gone unnoticed, she could not have been more wrong. The Prince allowed her the politicking, and even the assassinations so long as she did not interfere in his own plans. 

“Do you have a lot on your mind today, Uncle? It is rare for you to be so silent.” 

His niece teased him until he gave her his full attention, “Your mother mentioned to me that you wished to embark on an expedition to the newly discovered island. I thought it best to hear it from your lips, the request is an unusual one for you, my dear.” 

“Is it?” The young woman before him seemed to frown though no such expression touched her features, “I suppose it is. But you have the truth of it, I wish to venture away from the mainland, to find my fortunes elsewhere.” 

“This is because of your mother’s illness?” 

“It is.” 

Aurelien had not held onto his throne by being blind to nuance, “That is not the only reason, is it, dear niece?” 

“No, Your Grace.” 

His lips, so usually pushed into a line of stern concentration, tugged up at the corners. And perhaps for the first time, the Prince wondered if his dear niece had at last found some measure of recklessness that his son had in spades. He too had been a young man once, with all the desires for adventure and exploration. He could find no fault in her wish. 

Still, he was the Prince and her proximity to him meant that she was owed some privilege. 

“If you wish to travel to Teer Fradee, then you have my blessing. But I shall ask that you go as my emissary, the Legate to the Congregation of Merchants.” 

“A legate?”

“Yes, and hopefully one day, when I am gone and you have learned all you can from your adventures, perhaps you will honor this house by being its Prince.” 

The stunned silence that followed was almost deafening. 

“But what of Constantin?” Winifred’s question was rife with confusion. 

“What of him?” Her uncle asked, “He is the son of a Prince, which means he will never live an uncomfortable life. But he is no leader.” 

Winifred’s eyes grew at her uncle’s words,“Is he not meant to be the Prince after you?” 

Aurelien smiled, “My title is not necessarily a hereditary one, my father before me was a friend to the man who was Prince. The role requires strength of integrity, not blood to justify itself.” 

Crossing the study, his large hand settled warmingly on her shoulder, “I believe  _ you  _ have the strength to lead us forward.” 

“How can you be sure, Uncle?” 

“I hear of your work. Not just what you have done for Constantin, in readying him for a Season, but also in the treaties you have brokered amidst even that impossible task. Do not think I am blind to the bandits that live in the forests around the estate. Trade has never run smoother through those mountain passes, and it is because of you.” 

“I merely formalized an arrangement so that all might be properly fed and kept content.”

“You bartered between bandits and our country gentry.” Her Uncle shook his head, “You are too modest. We have less reports of looting and the people are happier, this is because of  _ you _ .” 

Winifred accepted the praise with a dignified bow, but when she raised her head there was a question in her eyes. 

“Speak child.”

“Must you truly remove Constantin as your heir?” She asked again. 

“You care so very much about this?” 

“I do. He has come a long way in his studies, I believe he will be worthy of the throne one day.” 

“He does not have your mind for diplomacy, for subtlety.” 

“Constantin is strong in other ways. He learns quickly, he  _ cares _ deeply.” She smiled as she recalled his progress in sword training, “He is tenacious when he sets his mind to task.” 

“He has very little sense of duty.” 

The tightness around her heart felt like a noose, “He has learned.” 

There was a lifetime of weariness in that statement. And though the words should have made Aurelien swell with pride at the thought of his son, the concern for his niece was too sharp to ignore. 

“Winifred, what is it you are trying to say? Tell me plainly.” 

“I am not sure that I wish to be Prince” She looked tired beyond her years, worn down. He saw then, the cost of her dogged adherence to courtly duty. 

“Would you do it, if I commanded?” He knew the answer even before her asked.

A grimace of pain crossed her face before it was swept away by the iron control of her will.

“Of course.” 

The words told him all he needed to know. There was the makings of a Prince in her, perhaps time on her grand adventure would return her to the Congregation at full strength. 

“When the Season is over you may leave with the Nauts. I will send a letter ahead so that the governor will know who you are.” 

Her smile was slow, glowing, “Thank you, Uncle.”

He kissed her brow, “You have always made me proud, Winifred. I hope that  _ this _ will make you happy.” 

And when she left, the Prince sat down to write not one, but two letters.

The first would be to Madam Morange, as he had promised, the second would be to an old friend. 

The Commander of the Coin Guard would see to it that the Congregation’s new heir was pointed towards the throne eventually. If money could buy loyalty, and in this case it did, then the Prince was sure he would have his way. 

XX

As the coach pulled away from the palace, Winifred released a deep breath that she did not know she had been holding. 

The echo of her uncle’s words lingered long after their conversation, and the weight of the revelation left her badly shaken. How naive had she been, to believe that the Prince would not have ideas of his own. 

Still, he had given her more than just his blessing. 

_ Legate. _

The title would give her greater power than she wielded now.

Perhaps that would mean freedom too. So why then did it feel so very hollow? 

_ Prince _ . 

It would be waiting for her, she knew it to be true. 

Her conversation with Blanche returned and with it the warning. 

Perhaps it was already too late, the cost of her duty had never been higher. 

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stage is set.  
The Season has begun.  
The evening will be one to remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hi there! 
> 
> I seem to be on a bit of a writing kick! Yay! 
> 
> Things get a bit...spicy...this chapter, so I'm super excited to get your thoughts. I really wanted to explore who Winifred was, or could be, in a world where she is her own person and is not so hemmed in by the trappings of decorum. In many ways I consider this a glimpse into who she will become once she makes it to the island (and is faced with a variety of other truths).
> 
> Thanks again for all the reads, kudos and comments! I could not have done this without your encouragement! 
> 
> ~Voi

The week since her discussion with her uncle had flown by. The Season was relentless, and even now, days later, she found she had had little time to think of his offer. Perhaps such things were a blessing in disguise. There was a reason all members of the nobility took months to prepare, for once the Season began it would wait for nothing and slow for no one. 

It had meant that despite the chaos of trying to attend the usual social gatherings and make the right introductions, Winifred had also had to carve out time to visit the Nauts and confirm the planning for her journey to the island. They were a rough and somewhat surly people, but in contrast to the pretty lies and bits of deception she had been confronting in the salons of great houses, their honesty was a shocking but welcome respite. 

She had yet to fully grasp their nature. Their most recent appointment had been more succinct than she anticipated and when Winifred found herself back at the townhouse at dusk she was more than a little surprised. 

Blanche laughed as Winifred regaled her with the story of her meeting. There was to be a grand ball that evening, a masquerade, and so they spoke in between preparations for the sumptuous event. 

“They said you might be sleeping below deck with the _ men _?” For once, Blanche sounded properly scandalized.

“I spoke to one of the other captains who assured me that a woman of my station would likely be given a proper quarter above deck, but that it would take some time to sort out.” Winifred sat perfectly still while her jewels were tucked into place and carefully straightened, “We have a several weeks before the voyage, so I am not concerned.” 

Blanche grinned, “You are ever the epitome of poise, my lady. Though I fear those of the court will judge you harshly whether you have earned it or not.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Winifred murmured. 

“Your reputation will always be suspect after your voyage, regardless of the truth.”

Winifred’s brows rose, “To avoid such suspicion would require a chaperone, and I would never part you from Kurt. Not for so selfish a reason. Besides, Constantin will benefit from Kurt’s protection, and that will give me a greater peace of mind than anything else.” 

Her friend smiled at her with tenderness, “Your consideration for all your relations is what makes you such a rare creature. And that is why I fear for you. There will be no shortage of gossipers.” 

“You mean, because I will be a woman amongst men?”

“Indeed, and _ Naut _ men specifically. The topic is a favorite of the court ladies here in Serene since the publication of that novella. No doubt you have heard about it, _ Naut-y Tales and Voyages _?” 

“The one written by Lady Jacqui Zanetta?” Winifred smiled slowly, picking up on the thread of humor in their conversation, “The vaunted Princess De Seingalt?” 

“Yes. She is _ quite _ explicit in her writings and…” Blanche wiggled her eyebrows meaningfully at their reflection in the looking glass, “If she is to be believed, a Naut’s _ mast _is proportional to the size of their boat. ”

Winifred gasped aloud, her hand flying to her bosom in exaggerated protest, “What an uncouth thing for a lady to say!”

Her friend grinned wickedly, “You are only outraged because you have realized that you are on the smallest boat and it is too late to change your arrangements.” 

Both women immediately broke into hearty laughter until tears were in their eyes.

“I do worry that you will become the subject of cruel rumors while you are away.” Blanche admitted when the humor had faded some, “You are kindness itself, but perhaps you should make the most of the suspicion. 

“I care little for the impressions of my peers. My uncle and mother have not protested my decision and theirs is the only opinion I consider worth noting. As for the other...we shall see. I’ve never had a lover before.” 

“Still, _ I _will miss you, my lady.” 

“My sentiments are the same.” Winifred admitted, “You have always known how to put me in better spirits, even when I am stubbornly opposed. I could not have asked for a more genuine friend.” 

Blanche smiled, “Now then, shall we have our final look at you before the carriage arrives to squire you away for the evening?” 

Gesturing to the powdered wig she had finished fixing into place, the lady’s maid paused as they both turned to look in the mirror. Gazing at her reflection, Winifred took her time, turning left and then right in a slow and methodical observation. She was pleased with the finish, but as this was to be a masquerade, there was one final reassurance needed. 

“Do you think any would recognize me?” 

“The false hair hides your birthmark well, which would have been the only true giveaway. The silver paint on your face disguises you completely.” Blanche smiled, “You look lovely. It is a shame your cousin will not be around to appreciate it.” 

“Tomorrow is his birthday,” Winifred looked at the ring that remained around her finger, “I think we can forgive him for not wanting to attend yet another ball. He’s been so very devoted to the Season in the past new weeks.” 

“All the more reason for you to enjoy this evening then. He is not the only one who has worked so hard.” 

Winifred smiled as she rose from her seat, “I will certainly endeavor to do so.” 

XX 

The masquerade was glorious. 

Winifred had wondered if she would like such an ostentatious display, but from the moment she had walked through the doors of the grand house she had known she would adore it. 

The estate was a wonder of pale stone and when framed against the velvet darkness of the evening, it shone like a fine pearl. The lanterns strung low between columns, casting light on those that danced below, capturing all manner of fantastical creatures in the golden glow. Great jeweled insects, shimmering suited beings of the deep, all the guests had adhered to the theme with enthusiastic dress. Even the masks proved to be unique, and not one was like the other. 

Tall flowering sculptures lined the walls around the ballroom, and garlands of matching style framed great arches in and out of the gardens. The air, warmed by the bodies of the guests, was kept fresh with the scent of citrus blossoms, and all around, the strategic placement of yet more lanterns created secret coves for lovers and secret keepers alike. 

Free from the responsibilities of her role, revelling in the anonymity that came with her mask, Winifred indulged herself. Lingering at the edges of conversations, nibbling at fine sweets, she enjoyed what it was to watch rather than be watched. She was able to identify some members of the court from the way they spoke, others from the way they carried themselves across the floor, for the few that proved more difficult, she made a game of observing them for longer periods of time until an odd habit or preference of drink gave away their identity. 

In this way she passed her time, slowly putting names to the masked strangers until she hds identified them all. And then, her curiosity sated, she moved to the next room, finding herself in the hall beside the balcony, a longer but more intimate space. The fine music of the orchestra drifted more languidly through this still air, and the lights were fewer, the moonlight that streamed in from the wall of glass doors only heightened the sense of intimacy. 

But most spectacular of all was above her, and Winifred felt the air still in her lungs at the beauty of it. Sensuous bodies, rippling muscle, the pair of acrobats who danced there seemed almost a world apart, shifting easily between great bolts of fluttering silk. 

Strong arms, fluid grace, the men moved together as if they shared a single mind, a single beating heart. The sight stirred something deep in her breast. .

In every lift, every twist, there was trust and faith that the other would be there. And in every expression, Winifred felt the fissure in her own heart ache. 

“Have you ever seen any couple move in such a way?” A voice, low and husky whispered the words into her ear. 

Her eyes remained fixed to the sky, but the words fell from her lips, “Once, not long ago.” 

_ In her mind’s eye she could see laughing blue eyes, felt the pressure of warm hands leading her through a dance, the rush of joy echoing through her as she remembered the way their bodies fit together. _

“A dancer?” The man guessed when she remained silent. 

_ Long fingers playing upon ivory keys, the music aching with such sweetness that the tears threaten to fall. She had stood in the hallway just to listen to his playing just a moment longer. _

“A musician?”

_ Laughter and sunshine, the easy company of him beside her as they walked through the garden on one more picnic, her bare feet brushing the softness of the grass. _

The voice in her ear deepened, “A lover?” 

Winifred gasped when she felt the whisper of a finger upon the back of her hand, turning to face the man who had ventured closer than decorum so usually allowed. 

Dark haired and dressed in an ink colored waistcoat, he was the sort of man who seemed to enjoy wearing the shadows and wore them well. The deep pewter color of his half-mask made it impossible to tell the color of his eyes, but there was a hint of his station in the glitter of stones at his throat, and the crown of onyx stars on his head. 

Tall and well built, he had the sort musculature she associated with the sporting nobility, but he was dressed with a flair that only those of the most artistic trade might dare. The softness of his clothing, the great gazy darkness of his tunic sleeves, did little to soften the unmistakable masculine beauty of his face and body. 

He cut a striking figure, one Winifred did not recognize. 

But he noticed the way she lingered, and his expression was one of masculine amusement. 

“You looked so very entranced by the spectacle. I wondered at your thoughts.” Her companion’s voice was familiar, but had a sort of languid fluidity that came from an evening of indulgence. 

“And you presumed that I was the sort of woman who might have a lover?” She wondered, at once intrigued as well as slightly offended. 

“The way you looked at them, that rapturous splendor of your expression,” A smile tugged at the corner of the man’s mouth, “It is the expression of a woman who _ feels. _ It is a rare thing among our breed.” 

Winifred felt her cheeks heat, “Sir, my face is half obscured by a mask. Surely you presume too much.”

“I presume very little. I can read your desire in the lines of your body.” His head tilted, but he made no move to crowd her, “It is _ there _, in the way your hand touches above your heart. You appreciate their artistry with a depth I find incredibly refreshing.” 

Winifred bit her lip, feeling suddenly exposed despite the circumstances. It seemed this mystery man, this stranger, had seen through more than just her mask. 

“I do not mean to embarrass you, or make you self conscious.” His expression softened into tenderness, “But you look like a woman who is so very near to blooming, like a bud on the cusp of flowering.”

“I-” Winifred found that she could not avoid this stranger’s gaze, “Are you a poet, sir?” 

It would explain why she could not place him, though there was an undeniable tug of something stirring within her. 

“Not at all. But I find myself unable to look away from you,” His lips tugged up into a grin, “It is strange, but I feel such affection for you already.” 

“I have felt affection, sir. And what you are feeling cannot be the truest expression of such a feeling.” 

“Are you so sure?” Her handsome stranger wondered.

Winifred was unprepared for the way his fingers found the back of her hands once more, for the sensual way he brushed the delicate skin of her exposed wrist just above her lace gloves. 

“You say that like a woman who has had to endure the pain of heartache, but enjoyed none of its pleasures.” His voice dropped low, into a soft crooning that drifted around her like smoke. 

“I am a lady.” She said softly, gazing down to where his hands briefly encircled her small wrists. 

And as she watched, he reached up to trace the pearl pale detailing of her sleeve, “Of that, I have no doubt. My question, little flower, is this: Have you ever been loved like a _ woman? _” 

She had long since thought of herself as being immune to flirts, to men who might try to woo her with pretty words or clever turns of phrase. Years of dealing with would-be suitors had made her believe that she was above the sort of emotions that had led other women to ruin. But to turn away from this stranger seemed an impossibility, she found herself caught like a fly in a spider’s web. 

And though decorum should have dictated that she step away, she found instead that she wished for him to be nearer. 

“Who are you?” She asked, half afraid of the answer. 

His lips curve into a broad, attractive smile, “I am found in the depth of one’s mind and heart. I am that which is both secret and dangerous.” 

He gently drew her closer, slowly directing their conversation into an alcove that offered the privacy of lavish topiaries. 

Encircling her waist with his hands, his thumbs gently brushed back and forth along the panelling of her gown. And with that, the smallest of gestures, he stole the breath from her lungs. 

“I am hunger, and desire, and all of the things that we are all too proper to admit to one another without these masks.” He chuckled, the sound dark and sinful, and Winifred found it roused in her something that was its equal. 

“You are _ truth _personified.” Winifred realized, solving his riddle, “Hidden inside the hearts of men and women alike.” 

“Indeed.” His response was warmed with pleasant surprise, “What a clever woman you are, my flower.” 

His hands began moving upwards, lazily tracing the lines of her stays upwards until her breath caught in her throat. 

Winifred’s eyes flew up to lock with his own, “I am not-” She swallowed shaking her head as if she might try to explain herself, “I am not usually-” 

Her words failed her. And for untold moments, Winifred could not think past the searing touch of his gloved hand upon her, of the way he fingered the fine satin ribbons that held her cameo in place at the base of her throat. 

_ “Sir.” _

His thumb brushed along the edge of her modest neckline, teasing the swell of her bosom. 

Winifred felt her head swim with desire, her breasts growing heavy as they strained against her corset. 

This man was a stranger, and yet the feelings he elicited were so very compelling, touching something deep within her that felt wild and reckless. Without a mask, she knew she never would have dared allow such things. But now, with only the shadows and _ truth _here for company, Winifred felt quite unlike her usual self. 

Unlike the tenderness she bore for Constantin, which was sweet and restrained, there was no trapping of decorum now to prevent her ruin. 

Dipping his head, his voice was a low rumble in her ear, “You’ll have no secrets from me, little flower.” 

Guiding her with sure steps out to the empty balcony, the chill of the evening and the soft drizzle of rain helped soothe some of the feverish heat that rolled off them both. It was a short lived reprieve. The moment they were out of the circle of lamp light, he was on her, skimming a palm low across her back as he drew her so near that she could feel the heat of him from belly to breast.

Unable to stop the thrilled gasp that tore itself from her lips, Winifred’s flushed hotly. 

_“Sir!” _

“Must I make you say my name again?” Her masked stranger teased, his handsome features lit by moonlight and little else. If not for the strength of his touch, Winifred might have thought him to be a figment of her imagination, or perhaps a phantom of her deepest desires. 

_ You may have a ruined reputation after your adventures. _

_ Was it not a perfect excuse to take a lover? _

”Would you like that?” Her companion murmured as if he could hear her thoughts. 

She had been hurting for so long, wishing for a life that could never be hers. But _ this _was her life now. Perhaps it was time that she took what small pleasures could be found when so much else was beyond her control. 

_ If her reputation would not survive the journey to the island, then what need had she to preserve it? _

It was then she saw it, a birthmark on her companion’s jaw, little more than a smudge amidst the shadows. Her stomach clenched in desire. This man was not, could never be, Constantin. But perhaps, just for this night, she could allow herself to indulge in the fantasy. 

It was weak of her, to imagine his face beneath the mask, to pretend that the hands that encircled her waist so easily were _ his _hands. But when she closed her eyes and inhaled softly, she could almost swear that beneath the sweat and perfumed clothing it was him. 

Chasing that scent, she buried her face into the curve where his neck met his shoulder, pressing her lips there to taste the salt and skin. When he groaned, the sound rough and masculine, she felt the thrill of it and knew her mind was made up. 

She had made her decision and for once she did not think about the consequences. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Constantin changes his mind about a quiet evening and meets a mysterious beauty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Things continue to develop and the stakes continue to rise (spicy time continues too!) I adored all the comments from the last chapter, so glad you all enjoyed it! I'm back at it this chapter, starting back with our favorite princeling to get his pov. 
> 
> As always, I look forward to hearing back - I couldn't do this without all of you! 
> 
> Much love,  
Voi

Constantin had thought he might avoid the masquerade, indeed his intent had been to stay at the palace and enjoy what was a very rare day of quiet. 

The month since the Season’s start had blurred past. The situation felt out of his control, and he felt as if he were back again in that damnable carriage, trapped with his mother as she demanded he do as she bid. Perhaps at this point, the presence of such a villain might have made the experience more palatable. Glancing out the window of his room, Constantin sighed. He was not yet used to the burden of duty being so very lonely, and worse was that he had chosen this path of his own volition. There would be no leaving it. 

His life was a whirlwind of carefully curated events, of dutifully escorting fine ladies on walks in the city garden and having them over for tea. And in the evening his time was carefully split between dinner parties hosted by those who represented the very best hope for the Congregation. It had been a grand soiree every other night, and he felt the costs of such things in his very bones, as if he were a wash rag wrung dry. 

Usually quick to laugh, he had found his good humor harder to find as the weeks went on, replaced instead by a cynical sort of character that reminded him of his father. 

Pressing his forehead to the chilled glass, he sighed again, willing the tension to seep from his neck and shoulders. Not for the first time he wished that he had accepted Winifred’s offer to stay at the family townhouse rather than the palace. Her presence would have soothed the ragged edges of his fraying temper and would have brightened what remained of his bachelor days. But he knew himself, knew his weaknesses even if he disliked thinking of them. Her very presence was a siren’s song, impossible to resist. Had he taken her offering he would have found a way to ruin them both. And in doing that, in bringing harm to Winifred’s tender reputation, he would have come to hate himself. 

So he lived at the Palace, lonely and bereft of friendship. 

And though he sought Kurt out on occasion to practice with sabers or pistols, he longed for something more meaningful. He wanted someone to argue with, to talk to, someone who would not simply agree with his opinions because he was the Prince’s heir. He detested the bland discourse he was forced to endure at each outing. 

The silence should have soothed him, but he found he missed honest conversation more than even that. 

He would find no such company in the great halls of his father’s home, the servants were too well trained and what remained of his family was too engrossed in their own machinations to give him any mind.

It was why, hours after sunset, he called his valet and began to dress. 

If he wanted an escape, an evening of unchecked conversation, what better solution than to find himself amongst faceless strangers?

It was highly improper to appear at an event after having made one’s excuses, but with masks and anonymity being the theme, there would be little risk of him being found out. 

He donned his mask with a small smile. 

XXX

He had stumbled into a dream.

That could be the only explanation for the circumstances in which he found himself hours later.

He had arrived in search of stimulating conversation, maybe an argument if he was lucky. What he found was more satisfying and twice as dangerous. 

Who was this vision in white? This flower amongst the weeds?

He had spotted her the moment she had entered the ballroom. Pale haired and silver skinned, she was cunningly disguised, for he did not recognize her at all. But there was something about her that called to him in a way that few others had. 

Indeed her presence had drawn his gaze time and again, until he had to excuse himself from his discussion on the virtues of poetry in order to follow. When she stopped to observe the artful athleticism of the performers in the adjoining hall, he had been compelled to approach her.

She was riveting.

Even as he endeavored to be his most charming, he found her ability to deflect his words just as rewarding as when his compliments found their mark. 

She was not immune to him, the pretty blush upon her cheeks seemed to grow with each gentle tease, but it seemed she would be no wilting beauty either. This little starflower was made of much stronger stuff, and Constantin found himself increasingly intrigued. 

He was also completely baffled as to who she might be. 

She spoke with a confident albeit proper manner. In the beginning such a similarity had reminded him of his dear cousin. But he knew his own habit of being fanciful, and the danger of pursuing such a thought, so he had stopped himself from deepening the comparison. Besides, the last he had heard, Winifred had been attending business with the Nauts.   
And so his pale-haired starflower was a true mystery, just as the masquerade intended. 

But perhaps, before the evening was through, he might come to know her in another sort of way. It had been months since he had invited anyone to his bed. And now, with his heart so carefully locked away, he saw little reason to curb his appetites. Perhaps the warmth of a body might chase away the chill that had lodged itself so firmly in his chest. 

“Would you like that?” 

The question fell from his lips in a soft murmur, dark and wanting. She fit so easily in his arms that it took only the gentlest of movements to lock them into place. But the fissure of heat at that joining, the sizzle of desire that accompanied the brush of her soft figure against his hard one, was enough to leave him panting. 

And before he could say anything, she moved, slipping further into his embrace until the press of her lips against his neck had his pulse thundering in his ears. 

A groan, warm and appreciative spilled from his lips, “You are a courageous innocent.” 

Capturing her face in his hands, he leaned down so that he might touch his lips to her own, teasing the corner of her mouth before tracing the line of her jaw up towards her ear with small kisses. 

And when he found the spot he was looking for-

Her breathless murmur was all the warning he received before she went nearly boneless in his arms. 

“It would appear I’ve found your weakness.” Chuckling, he nipped at her neck with enough pressure to feel the pulse flutter. A moment later, when she seemed to have recovered, he allowed hold to shift higher, until he could feel the thin lace of her demurely covered breast against his palm. 

“How divine.” Cuddling the softness in his hand, Constantin withdrew just enough to look at his lover’s flushed face, the shyness of her expression at odds with sensual awareness of her body as it clung to his own. 

Easing his attention, he found himself taken by an inexplicable tenderness amidst the maelstrom of the lust, “Are you certain, my flower?” 

“Please.” 

She raised up on her tiptoes so that she could brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth in an echo of his previous gesture. 

He did not need further encouragement. 

Lacing his fingers with her own, he led her from the balcony, departing the festive chaos of the masquerade for the lush dark of the surrounding gardens. In fevered silence they walked, pausing only when passion drove them into one another’ arms for a hurried kiss or desperate caress before a deeper desire carried them further afield. 

With sure steps, Constantin led her through the maze-like shrubbery until they came upon his destination. Carved of stone and made to look like a grand temple in the style of the Bridge Alliance, the folly had no doors or windows, but instead had great tapestries hanging between stone lattices of intricate star patterns. 

And though the moonlight and rain had cast everything around it in a shimmering silver curtain, the space between the thick woven mats glowed gold with lamplight. 

Pulling aside one of the hangings to usher his little flower into the folly’s embroidered embrace, Constantin felt his pulse quicken at the sight of her in such an intimate space. The rain had turned her pale linens almost translucent, and he could not help the way his eyes lingered on the delectable curves of her figure. 

“You are staring, my lord.” Her words were both an accusation and challenge. 

“Indeed. You are worthy of my every attention.” Removing his gloves, he moved close enough to smell the gentle fragrance of flowers. 

And that was when he took note of the dappled pattern on her skin, the rain had worn some of that silver away. 

“Shall I leave my mark on you?” He wondered aloud, watching as the paint moved beneath his questing fingers, “Or will I be the one to carry the imprint of this evening into the future?” 

But rather than respond, her hands rose to unfasten the cravat at his throat, skimming the delicate skin there before turning to the buttons of his waistcoat in a tantalizing and wholly seductive indication of her interests. 

His lips curved into a slow sensual smile as he shrugged out of his clothes with a sort of elegant nonchalance. He dared not look away from her, and it seemed that she was similarly transfixed. Her attention made him want to play, and when at last he had the removed his linen tunic, he slowed, teased, so that by the time his hands found the placket of his trousers, he could feel the strength of her gaze like a physical caress. 

Toying with the fastenings, Constantin lingered, directing her to where he had grown noticeably aroused. The sound of her maidenly gasp heated his blood all the more, drawing from him something vaguely possessive. The feeling was a foreign one, but impossible to ignore. 

He was used to experienced lovers, men and women who knew the exchange for what it was. But her untutored responses were proving to be more seductive than all of the knowing looks and naughty taunts that had ever brought him to heel. 

Stepping closer, he brushed his thumb against the softness of her lower lip, the color darkened from where she had bit it with a fierceness he could appreciate. 

“Forgive me for being so inconsiderate.” Tilting her chin up, he smiled slowly before pressing several melting kisses to the bow of her lips, “I’ve been a horribly selfish man.” 

Settling his hands on the curve of her waist, he paused before finding inspiration.

“Turn around.” 

His voice rough, his order one she followed to the letter. And when she presented him with her back, he did not hesitate to move the hair away from her neck, so that he could kiss her nape. 

“Are you sure you want this?” He asked as he worked, easing first the overdress then the corset slowly from her body, “This shall be your final chance to change your mind. I can promise you nothing except the pleasures of a single night.” 

The pale haired beauty smiled as she looked over her bared shoulder, “I can be quite stubborn when I want to be, my lord.”

As if sensing his hesitance, she turned to face him, her hands guiding his own to the place where her chemise was modestly tied shut, “I mean to enjoy this night.” 

He stilled the moment his fingertips brushed the smoothness of her bare skin, and Constantin could find no reason to deny her request. 

Drawing her to the far side of the room, where a collection of sumptuous pillows lent themselves to his use, he settled them both with a sigh. 

Her gasp of surprise was drowned out a moment later when he sank into the soft curves of her body, the cradle of her thighs, to begin a more thorough exploration. Cupping her breasts, he tasted one proud peak, teasing the other with a rough rasp of his thumb that left her groaning. Suckling gently at first, and then with increasing insistence, he paid little regard to the chemise she wore. It did nothing to dull the sweetness of her against his tongue. If anything, her clothing proved to be an enticing lure for his hands, beckoning like the wrapping on a gift. His curious fingers freed the silk slippers on her feet, slipping up her thighs until he found the ribbons to loosen the stockings on her legs. 

And yet as he skimmed the stockings down...

Winifred. 

He had been trying to avoid her ghost all evening, and yet she remained. A constant thought, a wish, a longing. Perhaps in the end, he was the one who had changed. Because of her. And though this woman could be her, he could not in good consciousness pretend. 

It would not be right. 

“I’m sorry.”

He eased his touches as he withdrew, stroking her silvery cheek with no small amount of chagrin.

Her sweet bosom still heaved, her cheeks lovely and flushed from his tender attentions, but she made no move to force him back upon her. Instead her hand came up in the gentlest of gestures, cupping the side of his face.

“What is wrong?” She asked, “Have I done something incorrect?” 

“No, not at all.” Desperate to reassure her, to ease a rejection he knows was not her fault in the slightest, he rolls to his knees so that he might meet her gaze directly. 

“You are a lovely woman, a true lady. It is why I have a confession to make...an apology really.” 

When she remained quiet, watchful, he continued. 

“There is a woman whom I love with all my heart. Even now. I cannot bed you when my every thought is of her.” 

He expected her to recoil or demand he leave immediately, some of his other lovers had expressed their distaste with him in such ways before. But instead, a secret sort of tension seemed to seep from her, easing from her shoulders as if his confession was her own. 

A smile, small and trembling, touched her lips, “I understand completely.” 

“Do you truly?” A wave of relief rolled through him and he could not help how he sagged against her. 

“I beg a thousand pardons, my lady. But I could not treat you in such a manner. Perhaps once I could have but…”

Her voice was warm in his ear, “It would seem that this is the cost of choosing truth. It is not always so very convenient.” 

But before he could manage a witty retort he caught a flicker of movement at the corner of his eye. A flash in the dark, he barely had time to look towards it before pain exploded across his side. 

The darkness swallowed him a moment later. 

XX

Winifred had once told Constantin that she was no war mage, that her skills tended more towards healing than harm. 

That had been the truth. But perhaps not the whole truth. 

Looking at the bloodied stain on the floor, where an assassin had stood not moments earlier, Winifred felt her stomach twist. 

A great vine, a rigid spike that drove up with such force that it had touched the ceiling before she had even realized it was there. Winifred had been unable to control it, but she knew it was no figment of her imagination. Somehow, someway, she had summoned it to her. 

The assassin never even had time to scream.

The spike had softened into a great writhing vine not long after, twisting around in a strange sort of dance that crushed the body into nothingness. 

All that was left now was the assailant’s bloodied dagger and the limp body of her not-quite-lover. 

Anchoring herself in the feel of the ground beneath her bare feet, Winifred knelt down to get a better look at how the healing was progressing. What she saw brought a grim frown to her lips. 

Even after several long minutes of healing, the wound was an ugly one, a grave hit. 

In the dim light of the folly, she had feared it might have been a killing blow. But Petrus had taught her well and she was nothing if not an excellent student. 

Around them, the shield she had summoned against any secondary attack held firm. Such a barrier was not something she could do on a whim or in the heat of battle, but she had needed its reassurance the more she thought about the attack. 

Despite the ferocity, it had quickly become clear that their attacker was no opportunistic thug looking to cause chaos. The way he had reacted to her magic, testing it for weakness, had spoken of years in specialized trade. Winifred has recognized it with icy clarity., a professional assassin, trained and contracted. 

The Congregation had few in their employ, and only one person was known to make regular use of them. 

Just who was her companion, and why had the Princess D’Orsay tried to kill him? 

And if not her, then whom? And why? 

The need to get an answer to at least one of those questions was well within her ability. And so, setting aside her misgivings, Winifred gently pried the mask from her companion’s face, finding the cascade of dark hair came with it. 

She had unmasked her lover, and found her heart laid bare instead.

He did not have to open his eyes for her to know what color they would be, for it was Constantin in her arms. 

If she had been a true lady she supposed the revelation would have been particularly shocking. 

Instead, the sight of his fair face only made her stomach twist in misery. 

Someone had been ordered to kill him. 

Had she not been with him, they would have succeeded. And that’s when she understood Blanche’s story. No matter the cost to see him safe, she would pay it. 

She would not see harm come to him, not for anything in the world.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Winifred makes a few major choices and Constantin wakes up to find a pleasant surprise.  
Mysterious identities are revealed leading to a return of tender affection (and things get a bit...sexy).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: Hi all! Hope you've been enjoying your summer! It's been a bit of a busy one on my side, but I've been really excited to pull this one together. I did go a bit back and forth on this one - but I hope you're happy with the final result. We're very quickly wrapping up the time on the mainland so expect just a few more to go before we head off! 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who continues to join us on this adventure. Whether you're silently lurking, sending kudos or spending the time to write me a review, know that I appreciate you all. To those of you who have written me multiple reviews - know that I am SO thankful for your thoughtfulness and I adore hearing your thoughts. I hope I can continue to entertain! 
> 
> Take care and let me know what you think!

Kurt is not the sort of man to do things out of the goodness of his heart. At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. Blanche has heard the sentiment so often that now she just rolls her eyes. Despite the mercenary nature of his occupation, her lover has more kindness than any man she has met, and it is this tender care that she sees in his eyes when Winifred appears in their doorway, pale faced and shaken. 

Blanche is at her friend’s side in an instant, but it is Kurt’s roughness that seems to bring the sharpness back to Winifred’s eyes, cutting through the haze that seems to have her in its hold.

“What’s he done now, Green Blood?” 

There is no question as to whom they are speaking of. And while the truth of it might have been funny under other circumstances, Winifred can only barely manage a pained grimace. 

“We were attacked.” 

She speaks carefully, breathes  _ carefully _ , as if she is on the verge of breaking. 

Kurt straps his pistol to his hip, “Where?” 

“The folly on Madame Guillaume’s estate. I cannot move him on my own.” 

Kurt nods, accepting the rapier than Blanche hands him, “I’ll take a horse and retrieve him.” 

“I’ll come with you, it’s better if you do not go alone. There is-” She struggles to continue, and instead lifts the dagger so that all can see. 

Kurt paused, “Where did you get that blade?” 

“There  _ was  _ an assassin.” 

The master of arms made a face, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” 

Winifred frowned, “You recognize it.”

“No, but I think I know someone who will. Assassinations are a specialized business.”

“I know. It is why I mean to move Constantin out of harm’s way until a solution can be found.” 

“Very well. Then we best get to work. Blanche, we can count on you to organize for the trip?” 

The lady’s maid nods gamely, giving her friend a gentle squeeze before turning to leave, “I shall be ready when you return.” 

XXX

Some time later, Blanche sat in quiet observation as they rode from the city. Despite the hour, the coach moved with swiftness and the sharp clatter of hooves bellied their necessary haste. 

“I sent the message to your mother as requested. Will there be any additional notices when we arrive at the estate?” 

Across from her, Winifred remained pensive, her expression half shadowed by the dark cloak she wore over the shimmering pearlescent gown from the masquerade. 

“There are no other notices, thank you, Blanche. However, I will need you to keep up appearances once we arrive at the estate, ordering tea trays and sending luncheons to the garden. You may enjoy them with Kurt, but we need to keep the kitchen and rest of the staff convinced that Constantin and I are in residence.” 

“And if we were to receive...unannounced guests?” 

Winifred’s lips lifted into a ghost of a smile, “Hopefully the nobility will be better mannered than dare show up in such an uncouth fashion. But you bring up a valid point. Perhaps Kurt can pack our usual things for hunting and hide them somewhere so it looks like we have gone out.” 

When she did not continue, Blanche nodded, turning her attention then to the figure that lay limply across the other bench. Head pillowed in Winifred’s lap, Constantin had not woken from whatever magical slumber he was in, but it seemed that all of the plans were being made with him in mind. 

“You will be taking him elsewhere?” 

“Yes, somewhere harder to reach. Somewhere I trust I can keep him safe.”

Since he was the son of a Prince, Blanche did not find that odd, but the very obvious strain on her mistress was unusual. 

“I’m sorry.” Winifred’s apology crossed the distance a moment later, thick with exhaustion, “I’ve been most inconsiderate this evening.” 

“You have.” Blanche agreed gamely, but softened the words with a smile, “It is a rarity for you, so I do not mind. Are you well?” 

“Not in the ways that matter.” 

“I’ve seen you walk off battlefields with less agony on your face.” Her friend teased trying to undo the oppressive melancholy that had fallen over them both, “What has happened?” 

“Someone tried to kill him, Blanche.” Winifred’s voice was an agonized whisper, “I was not the target,  _ he  _ was. Had I not been there, they would have succeeded.” 

Her brows rose, “Is he not the son of the spymaster?” 

“He is. Which is why I fear that I am missing a critical detail. It seems so unlikely that she would target her only son. I am hoping my mother may aid me in deciphering the engraving on the blade, or perhaps Kurt’s contact might reveal some truth.” 

“I may not know him as well as you, my lady, but Constantin does not strike me as the sort to do as commanded, even when his best interests at heart.” 

“You speak the truth.” 

Blanche watched her mistress carefully, “I think the bigger question is, why did you feel that we needed to leave the city? Do you trust so very few?” 

“I trust you and Kurt, unconditionally. I cannot say the same of any others. _ ” _ Winifred sighed, “It is a short list, and he is so very vulnerable.” 

“Winifred.” Blanche pressed, knowing her friend was avoiding the true crux of the issue. 

“You tried to warn me, to tell me that I had to make a choice.” Winifred shook her head, swallowed painfully, “I thought I had. But it would seem I am not the woman I thought I was. I will  _ not  _ let him die.” 

Brushing the hair from his brow, Winifred gazed tenderly at the small smile that lit his features even in sleep. 

“I love him so desperately, Blanche.” The words are stark, revealing, but she did not hide them. Not anymore. “The thought of him dead is even worse than him unhappily wed to another. I cannot bear such a thought.” 

“Then what do you mean to do? Become his guard captain? Live a life in eternal service to him?” The question is probing, offering up suggestions that Winifred might have once considered before the events of the evening had shaken her so thoroughly. 

“I am planning for something more dramatic.” The noble woman admits after a guilty pause. 

“Oh?”

“I mean to take him with me to the island, enemies will be fewer and hard pressed to reach him.”

“Then why are we fleeing to the country if your boat is in the harbor?” Blanche wondered aloud.

“Because I will not force this, nor any other major decision, upon him without his consent.” Winifred’s words were firm, an exterior of steel hiding a tender heart, “I mean to convince him when he wakes.” 

XXX

Constantin opens his eyes the morning of his birthday to find that his dreams have followed him to the waking world. And indeed, the sight so stuns him that for a long moment he tries not even to breathe lest the illusion disappear.

Winifred lays beside him in bed, their clasped hands sheltered at her breast. 

The ring on her thumb glitters in the late morning light, as brilliant as any promise. 

Turning his gaze to her sleeping face, he is utterly arrested by the softness of her features, the sweetness of her lips that have eased from their usual firm line. 

He does not know what he has done to deserve such an awakening, but he swears he will do it again, every day, if it means he can have her beside him like this. Moving so that he can brush a stray bit of hair out of her face, it is then that he feels it, a dull echo of pain that bisects his body from shoulder to lower back. 

Pausing, he shifts gingerly to lift the blankets, finding he has no recollection of the bandages that circle his torso. There is no sign of blood, but he can feel the ache from shoulder to hip, a ghostly reminder of some nightmare. But the details escape him, and indeed his last memory is of- 

“You’re awake.”

He looks up to find Winifred watching him, her expression carefully neutral.

“I am….though I suppose the bigger miracle is that I am alive at all, is it not?” 

A cloud seems to pass over her features, guilt or grief, he is not sure which one. But the brush of her fingers against his cheek is enough to stop him from asking about it, at least for the moment. 

“Indeed.” She speaks the words with relief, “You are alive.” 

His answering smile is as brilliant as sunshine, “Glorious.” 

And then his expression falls, “What happened to - that is to say, was it the guards who found me? I have only the most vague sense of what happened.” 

“There were no guards.” Winifred answered carefully, “No one outside the folly knew what was transpiring within. You were attacked by an assassin.”

“An assassin?” Constant repeats her words slowly, trying to understand her meaning.

He closes his eyes, trying to remember the details of the evening more clearly. But even as he does, he knows he has not miscounted the people in the room. Still he tries, unravelling the events of the night as he works to understand both what Winifred is saying and what she is very deliberately leaving out. 

_ No one outside the folly.  _

The answer, when it finally dawns on him, is both simple and scintillating. The knowledge, the  _ realization _ , is enough to drive his heart to thrumming, and his eyes open to find the starflower unmasked at last. 

“You were utterly delicious.” 

It is not, he realizes, the response she had expected. Indeed, he supposes he should have erred on the side of composure or modesty, all things considered. But her expression is one of such shock that he cannot help but enjoy the comical widening of her eyes, the startlingly scarlet color that slashes across her delicate features to reveal her maidenly surprise. 

“ _ Constantin _ .” 

It is a revelation to find himself in command of the situation, and he is all the more charmed by Winifred’s innocent outrage. 

“I promise that my feelings rival your own, despite my lack of a blush.” His eyes glitter as he watches her, and he tugs the shirt from his shoulders, “I am entirely intrigued, however, now more than ever.” 

“Your timing is atrocious.” Despite the color on her face, she strives to redirect the conversion. Rising to her knees, she fusses with his bandages, gently unwinding them before pausing, waiting for his nod before her magic brushes his skin in the final bit of healing. 

“You almost  _ died _ .” Muttering to herself, Winifred leans closer to inspect her handiwork, “Certainly now is not-” 

“I would argue that my brush with an untimely demise is all the more reason to discuss such things.” Turning to present her with his back, Constantin looks over his shoulder with a cheeky grin, “Would you not agree?” 

“Well it is certainly why I brought you here.” She says quietly, fingertips ghosting over his shoulder, “I could not trust you to be safe anywhere else.” 

“Surely the townhouse has plenty of guards. You did not need to hide me in your room.” 

“The townhouse?” Winifred’s expression creases, and her hand falls away, “Have you not noticed? We are at the cottage in the woods. I’ve  _ abducted _ you.” 

And this time it is his eyes that widen in surprise, his laughter one of delight, a throaty noise that rings with amusement.

“How utterly brilliant, my darling. I should be very flattered indeed that you have ferried me away.” 

He does not tease her for the remainder of his examination, but once she has finished, he shifts to lay beside her once more, face to face as is their custom. And though neither makes a comment on their proximity, their knees are close enough to touch, and their ankles intertwine beneath the covers. 

They fall silent then, for a time content to watch the other, to savor the closeness that has been in such short supply since the season had begun. That world still exists, distantly, but their presence here in the cottage seems to be quite apart. 

And when Winifred offers him her hand, he does not hesitate to accept, pressing a tender kiss to her palm in silence reverence. 

For Winifred, his every action is arresting, and her eyes remain watchful as he slowly presses kisses to the base of each finger, lips clinging to each in turn. It is when he lingers on her thumb, on the ring, that she finds tears sting her eyes. 

Lost in the feel of her, Constantin finds that she still fits perfectly in the circle of his arms. And when she settles close, he slows, eases back, brushing the backs of his fingers against the silken texture of her hair, drawing slowly downwards until the tips of his fingers tease the line of her throat.

“Look at me, Winifred.” 

She does so, to find his eyes have darkened to a deep blue, like the heart of the ocean. 

“May I?” His voice is rough with wanting.

Finding that she cannot gather the words she needs, Winifred turns instead to action. 

She has admired him from afar for some time, and had been aware of him as a man since the moment he had returned to the estate, but this is the first time she has ever truly allowed herself to act on such observations. And oh what a pleasure it is when he is so patient with her.

Her every touch is a reciprocation of the attention she has received. Her smaller hands delighting in the sharp angles of his face and neck, she lingers over the strong lines of his shoulders and chest. He is firm and hot, and it seems that no matter how much she touches him, she cannot satisfy her own desire. 

And so she continues with her exploration, indulging in the scent of his body, the flex of his muscles as she grazes her palm and fingertips over every plane, until even that is not enough. She dare not delve beneath the covers, but all above is free for her perusal, and it is not long before her curiosities, and her fingers tease that silky line that runs from navel to 

When a soft hiss falls from Constantin’s lips, Winifred finds that something dark and feminine, curls tightly in the depths of her belly. But it is not enough, and before she can fully think of the implication she leans down to press her lips to him. 

He feels warmer against her like that. 

But just one small kiss later, that dark satisfaction flutters again. 

The idea is so wicked that Winifred cannot help but act. 

Her mouth opens. And her tongue darts out to taste. 

Hot, with a tang of salt, she means to have just to sample, but with her first bit of impish delight, her boldness seems to grow. One becomes many, growing increasingly more daring until the man beneath her curses with such creative insistence that she cannot help glance up at him. 

_ “Winifred.”  _

Constantin’s face is flushed and his golden hair seems to have been clawed into an artless mess. But he looks well loved, and the smile on his lips is broad despite the way he trembles in her arms. The small red marks that trail from his neck to navel are a soothing balm to the strange possessiveness that hums in her breast. 

“Your  _ expression _ , dearest.” He laughs again, the sound breathless and surprised, “I’m afraid that if I let you continue you shall unman me.” 

Winifred is not quite sure she understands what he means, but when he pulls her close, she finds the evidence of his arousal pressed to the softness of her belly. 

She is not so innocent that she does not understand  _ that _ . But there is a difference between knowing and  _ feeling _ , and Winifred finds her shyness returns as her body’s response ratchets higher.

Shifting against him, trying to ease the ache between her legs, she cannot quite stifle her moan when Constantin’s hand finds the bend of her knee and guides it high upon his hip. Fitting them together like pieces of a puzzle, he opens her softness against the rigid line of his body and finds that she all but melts against him. 

Constantin asks huskily, “Will you let me see to your pleasure today?”

His words are an echo of the night before, but the tone is rougher now, his control worn away by the fact it is  _ her  _ in his arms and there will be no more pretending. There will be no need to fantasize either, and that makes the moment at once more dangerous as well as satisfying.

“You speak as if I have not enjoyed myself already.” She asks faintly, color high and eyes dazed.

His expression warms, “If you are happy, then we will go no further.” 

“But there is more you are offering?” She asks, uncertain if it is curiosity or greed that drives her.

“Indeed. There is a wide path to walk between innocence and ruin. We can explore it further if you are amenable.” 

She chuckles, “What a gentleman you are, to think of my virtue.” 

His fierce expression softens to tenderness, “Always.”

She is quiet then, gazing at him with such frank affection that he feels his heart skip a beat in his chest. And when she tilts her head up, to brush her lips against his own, he finds that he can deny her nothing. 

“Show me?” The request dances in the air between them, playful and sweet. 

And so he does. 

And in the quiet of the cabin, in a world of just two, Constantin shows her the pleasures of having an attentive lover. Through word and touch, with a patience borne of adoration and awareness, he carries her higher, the climb a steady one until the last. 

And when he touches her  _ there,  _ briefly, insistently, the shock and pleasure of it sends her over the edge and into the welcoming arms of oblivion. 

Half delirious, Winifred can do little but press her face into Constantin’s shoulder, unaware of the world outside the feel of him in her arms. 

“What was that?” She murmurs, as she drifts off to sleep. 

His chuckle is warm, his kiss warmer still. 

“That, my dearest, was the best sort of birthday present.” 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which quiet conversations reveal the steadiness of affection and tender hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! 
> 
> It's been longer than I wanted, but not as long as I had feared. Life happened. I have no other excuse really. I hope you all are taking care of yourselves and doing well as we head into the Autumn season.
> 
> I am so thankful to all of you who commented, kudo'd and just took the time to give that most recent chapter a read. I am very pleased to report that this chapter is going to really wrap up our time on the mainland and we will (finally) be off on our adventure next time. 
> 
> There will be some threads that will be coming back even when we do get to the island (I have not forgotten!) but it'll be time to set sail at the very least. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Until next time,  
Voi

It is late afternoon before the realities of the world intrude on the two in bed. 

Golden light warming to carmel, shadows deepening to violet, Constantin traces the pattern of Winifred’s linen chemise with his fingertips, the colors of the day painting across them both. 

“What is on your mind?” Her voice may be drowsy and warm with sleep, but she sees every nuance in his expression from where she lays beside him.

“Your offer of the island, of freedom.” He tries to smile, but she can see the hesitation, the flicker of something beneath the surface. 

“Why do you feel guilty, Constantin?” She smooths her thumb against his cheek in quiet comfort. 

The corners of his eyes crease in mirth, “You read me like an open book, dearest. There are no secrets from you.” 

When she says nothing, he continues. 

“It was not so long ago that I promised that I would do my duty and stay away from you...from the promise of _ this _.” 

His lips brush a butterfly soft kiss to the tips of her fingers before he sighs, “Unsurprisingly I have failed to follow through. I imagine you are quite disappointed in me.” 

Winifred is silent for a long moment before her gentle touch guides his eyes to her own, her tender expression a contrast to the fierceness of her words, “I have never been disappointed in you, Constantin. And I expect that I never will be.” 

The sentiment makes his eyes sting, and the pain is so raw that his voice shakes, “You are perhaps the only one. My father made it clear he did not expect me to succeed, and now-”

What a strange thing it was, to watch maturity burden a man that so many believed lacked the courage to shoulder it. Winifred could never quite understand how so few people could recognize Constantin’s strengths for what they were.

But then, kindness and genuine feeling were in painfully short supply amongst the courtiers of Serene. 

She respected him enough to ask, “Would you prefer that I return you to the Palace?” 

It was an option, in truth it was the only one that propriety would allow. 

But she had told Blanche the truth. She would not force Constantin to do anything he did not wish. 

The choice was his. 

And yet, she cannot quite prevent the words from tumbling from her lips.

“I desire for you to be safe.” Winifred finds that the strength of _ that _ need is enough to tighten her throat with emotion, “But I wish for your happiness above all else.” 

He smiles boyishly, his cheeks warming with color as he acknowledges that truth, ““I am safest and happiest when I am in your care.You hold the key to my every contentment.” 

Drawing her towards him, he sighs as he settles her in his lap, so close that their noses almost touch. His eyes, fathoms deep and dark with emotion, meet her own. “I’d sacrifice my father’s good opinion of me forever if it meant we could be together.” 

“Then our plan is made.” Sealing their plan with a tender kiss, Winifred’s happiness blooms like a flower, “I look forward to enjoying your company on this adventure.” 

“And I, you.” 

And with those words, the tension melts into something else entirely, brought about by their proximity and their fledgling physicality with one another. 

Fingers flexing on the silkiness of her stockings, Constantin amuses himself with the steady trek of his hands up Winifred’s legs. Slow and unhurried, he brushes her filmy gown higher by degrees. And with each quiet motion, the warmth between them builds, until he spies the lace and ribbon that keep her modesty neatly tied above her knee, and that heat turns to burning. 

Teasing the first little loop, and then the next, he tugs them loose a moment later, skimming the fabric down until there is nothing between them. And though he allows his hands to return, to rub slow circles in the softness of her thighs, he does not dare move higher. Not when his control has been tested so recently and his desire remains sharp as a blade. 

_ “Constantin.” _He can hear the strain in her voice, the wanting that matches his own. 

“I fear you have ruined me for other women.” He admits softly, pressing a kiss to the side of her neck with a sigh, ”You are a sensual woman, just as I suspected you might be.”

Winifred blushed prettily, looking away as color flooded her face, “You mustn’t speak so boldly of such things.” 

“No?” His eyes watch her with unabashed masculine interest, his hands inching ever so slightly higher. 

”And why is that, my darling Winifred?” The question is idly asked, as if he is unaware of how she shifts against him, how she bites her lip to prevent the sweet sounds from escaping her. 

Smile broadening to a grin, Constantin watches as her eyes flutter in pleasure, “I almost think you like my naughty, _ ungentlemanly _words.” 

She made a soft sound in protest, refusing to look at him, but her bosom heaved with the effort to take measured breaths, and her hands had anchored themselves on his shoulders so that they were wound around one another. 

“It feels dangerous.” She admitted as last, looking at him from beneath long lashes and flushed cheeks. “Such good fortune is too rich a reward for any one woman to be allowed. I fear someone will come to take it away, or that I will awaken from this moment to find it all a daydream.”

Shifting to press their joined hands over her breast to where her heart beat so frantically, Constantin was surprised to find an awkward smile on his lady’s lips when she turned to return his gaze. The expression one of rare self consciousness. 

“Being in your arms makes me feel as though I should burst from happiness.” She admitted quietly. 

And for once Constantin found himself at a loss for words. Struck by tenderness amidst a maelstrom of lust, he was so very aware of the vulnerability she had revealed, the gift of truth that sat between them now. 

“You knew I loved you.” Winifred said after a time, filling the silence with the quiet melody of her voice, “Are my words such a surprise?” 

Unsettled by the forcefulness of his own emotion, Constantin swallowed hard, struggling to find the right response. 

Clearing his throat roughly, he tried. “You spoke the words once, when you were cutting out both of our hearts in the name of duty. You called it _ love _ then.I thought that we must have meant different things.” 

Turning back to her, his expression grows rueful, “Imagine how stunned I am to hear your affections described in such perfect symmetry to my own. I am in awe of your strength to have sent me away.” 

“Constantin-” 

He shakes his head, intent on finishing his thought, his confession.

“I am aware that I can speak of affection more readily. I have never been one for restraint. But I swear to you, my adoration for you is equal to your regard for me. I may be disappointingly shallow in other avenues of life, but you are the well from which my emotions are deepest drawn.” 

Her lips found his in a wordless but perfect agreement. 

XX 

  
  


It should not feel so good, to be so wicked.

The thought crossed Winifred’s mind as though carried on the breeze that danced through the trees. 

After a lifetime of mindfulness, the ease with which she now stood outside shook her. To take such pleasure, and enjoy it with such little guilt seemed almost unthinkable. And yet, her experience with Constantin seemed to be an awakening of the senses. 

Closing her eyes, she reveled in the sensual brush of the wind through her unbound hair, the caress of broad ferns on her bare legs, the cool brush of Constantin’s linen tunic against her skin. 

All of it was easy, the world ripe with new experiences to be indulged and enjoyed with abandon. 

Perhaps with time, shame would return, or maybe she would find enough guilt to craft into a hammer, one she could wield as a tool to force herself back into the mold of the lady she had once been. 

But even as she wondered at the possibility, she knew it was no longer truly an option. 

She was different now. Fundamentally changed by the happenings inside. 

There would be no going back. 

It was contentment that grew in her breast with each hour, a tranquility that came from finding such a compelling peace, from finding such love. 

Such a feeling was not likely to relinquish its hold on her easily, and like a hardy wildflower she could already feel it touching so many other aspects of who she was. 

Opening her eyes, Winfred saw no well tended garden beds nor manicured topiary. The villa was too far, and with it, the trappings of fine society, of expectation and the court. 

All that remained was the land, the wildness, and the strange hum of something beneath her feet. It called to her, that fierce power she did not yet understand. It sang in her blood like a song.

“Winifred?” 

She spied him at the top of the stone steps, strong and beautiful in the dying light of day. There was a flutter in her heart, a warmth that grew from his appearance, from the knowledge of how completely they care for one another. 

Raising her hand, she waited for him to join her. 

Slowly. Steadily. 

She could read every shift in his body as he drew near. And when she captured his larger hand into her two smaller ones, she smiled at the roughness that had worn itself onto its surface. His badge of honor, a sign of his hard work and dedication. 

Winifred did not need to speak the words of praise for him to understand, but when her thumb traced the line towards the heart of his hand, she found his eyes fixed on her, his cheeks flushed. 

“Dance with me?” She asked softly, knowing she was asking him to partner for more than just a single waltz.

Lifting her hand to his lips as he bowed, Constantin pressed a kiss to the backs of her fingers, hearing the question beneath the words. 

“Always.”   
  
  



End file.
